THE  WORKS  OF 

in* 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

GIFT  OF 

FREDERIC  THOMAS  BLANCHARD 

FOR  THE 
ENGLISH  READING  ROOM 


CLOVELLY 

Maurice  Kingsley  tells  us  that  Alberalva  is 
probably  Clovelly,  the  little  fishing  village — 
one  of  the  most  picturesque  and  beautiful  in 
all  Devon — about  a  hundred  miles  to  the 
southwest  of  Bristol.  "It  seems,"  says  Kate 
Dcniglas  Wiggin,  "to  have  been  flung  up  from 
the  sea  into,  a  narrow  rift  between  hill?, 
and  to  have  clung  there  these  eight  hundred 
years  of  its  existence."  The  one  main  street 
is  a  rocky  staircase,  turning  and  twisting  as 
it  descends  to  the  sea,  with  quaint  whitewashed 
houses,  some  of  them  vine-covered,  tumbling 
against  each  other  on  either  side. 

"Two  Years  Ago" 
Vol.  I 


THE    BIDEFORD    EDITION 


NOVELS,    POEMS  <5r-  LETTERS 
OF   CHARLES    KINGSLEY 

TWO 
YEARS  AGO 

VOLUME  I 
BY  CHARLES  (KINGSLEY 


ILLUSTRATED 


NEW  YORK   AND  LONDON 

THE    CO-OPERATIVE 
PUBLICATION  SOCIETY 


Copyright,  1899 
BY  J.  F.  TAYLOR  &  COMPANY 


Two  Y«are  A 
Volum«  I. 


CONTENTS 

VOLUME   I 

PACB 
INTRODUCTION xi 


PROLOGUE 


CHAPTER 

I.  POETRY  AND  PROSE 29 

II.   STILL  LIFE 64 

III.  ANYTHING  BUT  STILL  LIFE 89 

IV.  FLOTSAM,  JETSAM,  AND  LIGAN 109 

V.  THE  WAY  TO  WIN  THEM 146 

VI.  AN  OLD  FOE  WITH  A  NEW  FACE 164 

VII.    LA  CORDIFIAMMA 173 

VIII.  TAKING  ROOT 196 

IX.  "AM  I  NOT  A  WOMAN  AND  A  SISTER?"  ....  220 

X.  THE  RECOGNITION 242 

XI.  THE  FIRST  INSTALMENT  OF  AN  OLD  DEBT  .    .    .  294 

XII.  A  PEER  IN  TROUBLE 319 

XIII.  I.'HOMME  INCOMPRIS ,    .    .    .    .  332 

XIV.  THB  DOCTOR  AT  BAY   ...........  351 


Vol.  10— A 


TWO   YEARS   AGO 


TWO  YEARS  AGO 


PROLOGUE 

IT  may  seem  a  somewhat  Irish  method  of  be- 
ginning the  story  of  Two  Years  Ago  by  a 
scene  which  happened  but  a  month  since.  And 
yet,  will  not  the  story  be  on  that  very  account  a 
better  type  of  many  a  man's  own  experiences? 
How  few  of  us  had  learnt  the  meaning  of  "  Two 
years  ago  "  until  this  late  quiet  autumn  time ;  and 
till  Christmas,  too,  with  its  gaps  in  the  old  ring  of 
friendly  faces,  never  to  be  filled  up  again  on  earth, 
began  to  teach  us  somewhat  of  its  lesson. 

Two  years  ago,  while  pestilence  was  hovering 
over  us  and  ours,  while  the  battle-roar  was  ringing 
in  our  ears,  who  had  time  to  think,  to  ask  what  all 
that  meant ;  to  seek  for  the  deep  lesson  which  we 
knew  must  lie  beneath?  Two  years  ago  was  the 
time  for  work :  for  men  to  do  with  all  their  might 
whatsoever  their  hands  found  to  do.  But  now  the 
storm  has  lulled  once  more;  the  air  has  cleared 
awhile,  and  we  can  talk  calmly  over  all  the  won- 
ders of  that  sudden,  strange,  and  sad  "  Two  years 
ago." 

So  felt,  at  least,  two  friends  who  went  down, 
just  one  week  before  Christmas  Day,  to  Whitbury 
in  Berkshire.  Two  years  ago  had  come  to  one  of 
them,  as  to  thousands  more,  the  crisis  of  his  life ; 


2  Two  Years  Ago 

and  he  was  talking  of  it  with  his  companion ;  and 
was  on  his  way,  too,  to  learn  more  of  that  story 
which  tl\is  book  contains,  and  in  which  he  had 
borne  his  part 

They  were  both  of  them  men  who  would  at  first 
sight  interest  a  stranger.  The  shorter  of  the  two 
he  might  have  seen  before  —  at  picture  sales, 
Royal  Academy  meetings,  dinner-parties,  evening 
parties,  anywhere  and  everywhere  in  town;  for 
Claude  Mellot  is  a  general  favorite,  and  a  gen- 
eral guest 

He  is  a  tiny,  delicate-featured  man,  with  a  look 
of  half-lazy  enthusiasm  about  his  beautiful  face, 
which  reminds  you  much  of  Shelley's  portrait; 
only  he  has  what  Shelley  had  not,  clustering 
auburn  curls,  and  a  rich  brown  beard,  soft  as 
silk.  You  set  him  down  at  once  as  a  man  of 
delicate  susceptibility,  sweetness,  thoughtfulness ; 
probably  (as  he  actually  is)  an  artist 

His  companion  is  a  man  of  statelier  stamp,  tall, 
dark,  and  handsome,  with  a  very  large  forehead : 
if  the  face  has  a  fault,  it  is  that  the  mouth  is  too 
small ;  that,  and  the  expression  of  face  too,  and  the 
tone  of  voice,  seem  to  indicate  over-refinement, 
possibly  a  too  aristocratic  exclusiveness.  He  is 
dressed  like  a  very  fine  gentleman  indeed,  and 
looks  and  talks  like  one.  Aristocrat,  however,  in 
the  common  sense  of  the  word,  he  is  not ;  for  he 
is  a  native  of  the  Model  Republic,  and  sleeping 
partner  in  a  great  New  York  merchant  firm. 

He  is  chatting  away  to  Claude  Mellot,  the  artist, 
about  Fremont's  election ;  and  on  that  point  seems 
to  be  earnest  enough,  though  patient  and  mod- 
erate. 

"  My  dear  Claude,  our  loss  is  gain.    The  delay 


Prologue  3 

of  the  next  four  years  was  really  necessary,  that 
we  might  consolidate  our  party.  And  I  leave  you 
to  judge,  if  it  has  grown  to  its  present  size  in  but 
a  few  months,  what  dimensions  it  will  have  at- 
tained before  the  next  election.  We  require  the 
delay,  too,  to  discover  who  are  our  really  best 
men;  not  merely  as  orators,  but  as  workers;  and 
you  English  ought  to  know,  better  than  any  na- 
tion, that  the  latter  class  of  men  are  those  whom 
the  world  most  needs  —  that  though  Aaron  may 
be  an  altogether  inspired  preacher,  yet  it  is  only 
slow-tongued,  practical  Moses,  whose  spokesman 
he  is,  who  can  deliver  Israel  from  their  task- 
masters. Besides,  my  dear  fellow,  we  really  want 
the  next  four  years  —  'tell  it  not  in  Gath*  —  to 
look  about  us,  and  see  what  is  to  be  done.  Your 
wisest  Englishmen  justly  complain  of  us,  that  our 
'  platform '  is  as  yet  a  merely  negative  one ;  that 
we  define  what  the  South  shall  not  do,  but  not 
what  the  North  shall.  Ere  four  years  be  over,  we 
will  have  a  '  positive  platform,'  at  which  you  shall 
have  no  cause  to  grumble." 

"I  still  think  with  Marie,  that  your  'positive 
platform '  is  already  made  for  you,  plain  as  the 
sun  in  heaven,  as  the  lightnings  of  Sinai.  Free 
those  slaves  at  once  and  utterly ! " 

"  Impatient  idealist !  By  what  means  ?  By  law, 
or  by  force  ?  Leave  us  to  draw  a  cordon  sanitaire 
round  the  tainted  States,  and  leave  the  system  to 
die  a  natural  death,  as  it  rapidly  will  if  it  be  pre- 
vented from  enlarging  its  field.  Don't  fancy  that 
a  dream  of  mine.  None  know  it  better  than  the 
Southerners  themselves.  What  makes  them  ready 
just  now  to  risk  honor,  justice,  even  the  common 
law  of  nations  and  humanity,  in  the  struggle  for 


4  Two  Years  Ago 

new  slave  territory?  What  but  the  consciousness 
that  without  virgin  soil,  which  will  yield  rapid  and 
enormous  profit  to  slave  labor,  they  and  their  in- 
stitution must  be  ruined  !  " 

"  The  more  reason  for  accelerating  so  desirable 
a  consummation  by  freeing  the  slaves  at  once." 

"  Humph  !  "  said  Stangrave,  with  a  smile.  "  Who 
so  cruel  at  times  as  your  oo-benevolent  philan- 
thropist? Did  you  ever  count  the  meaning  of 
those  words?  Disruption  of  the  Union,  an  in- 
vasion of  the  South  by  the  North ;  and  an  inter- 
necine war,  aggravated  by  the  horrors  of  a  general 
rising  of  the  slaves,  and  such  scenes  as  Hayti 
beheld  sixty  years  ago.  If  you  have  ever  read 
them,  you  will  pause  ere  you  determine  to  repeat 
them  on  a  vaster  scale." 

"  It  is  dreadful,  Heaven  knows,  even  in  thought ! 
But,  Stangrave,  can  any  moderation  on  your  part 
ward  it  off?  Where  there  is  crime,  there  ia 
vengeance;  and  without  shedding  of  blood  is  no 
remission  of  sin." 

"  God  knows  !  It  may  be  true :  but  God  forbid 
that  I  should  ever  do  aught  to  hasten  what  may 
come.  O  Claude,  do  you  fancy  that  I,  of  all 
men,  do  not  feel  at  moments  the  thirst  for  brute 
vengeance?" 

Claude  was  silent. 

"  Judge  for  yourself,  you  who  know  all  —  what 
man  among  us  Northerners  can  feel,  as  I  do,  what 
those  hapless  men  may  have  deserved?  —  I  who 
have  day  and  night  before  me  the  brand  of  their 
cruelty,  filling  my  heart  with  fire?  I  need  all 
my  strength,  all  my  reason,  at  times  to  say  to  my- 
self, as  I  say  to  others  —  'Are  not  these  slave- 
holders men  of  like  passions  with  yourself?.  What 


Prologue  5 

have  they  done  which  you  would  not  have  done  in 
their  place  ? '  I  have  never  read  that  key  to  Uncle 
Tom's  Cabin.  I  will  not  even  read  this  Dred, 
admirable  as  I  believe  it  to  be." 

"  Why  should  you  ?  "  said  Claude.  "  Have  you 
not  a  key  to  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin  more  pathetic 
than  any  word  of  man's  or  woman's?" 

"  But  I  do  not  mean  that !  I  will  not  read  them, 
because  I  have  the  key  to  them  in  my  own  heart, 
Claude :  because  conscience  has  taught  me  to  feel 
for  the  Southerner  as  a  brother,  who  is  but  what  I 
might  have  been ;  and  to  sigh  over  his  misdirected 
courage  and  energy,  not  with  hatred,  not  with  con- 
tempt, but  with  pity,  all  the  more  intense  the  more 
he  scorns  that  pity;  to  long,  not  merely  for  the 
slaves'  sake,  but  for  the  masters'  sake,  to  see  them 
—  the  once  chivalrous  gentlemen  of  the  South  — 
delivered  from  the  meshes  of  a  net  which  they  did 
not  spread  for  themselves,  but  which  was  round 
their  feet,  and  round  their  fathers',  from  the  day  that 
they  were  born.  You  ask  me  to  destroy  these  men. 
I  long  to  save  them  from  their  certain  doom ! " 

"  You  are  right,  and  a  better  Christian  than  I 
am,  I  believe.  Certainly  they  do  need  pity,  if  any 
sinners  do;  for  slavery  seems  to  be — to  judge 
from  Mr.  Brooks'  triumph  —  a  great  moral  curse, 
and  a  heavier  degradation  to  the  slaveholder  him- 
self, than  it  can  ever  be  to  the  slave." 

"  Then  I  would  free  them  from  that  curse,  that 
degradation.  If  the  negro  asks,  '  Am  I  not  a  man 
and  a  brother?'  have  they  no  right  to  ask  it  also? 
Shall  I,  pretending  to  love  my  country,  venture  on 
any  rash  step  which  may  shut  out  the  whole 
Southern  white  population  from  their  share  in  my 
country's  future  glory?  No;  have  but  patience 


6  Two  Years  Ago 

with  us,  you  comfortable  liberals  of  the  Old  World, 
who  find  freedom  ready  made  to  your  hands,  and 
we  will  pay  you  all.  Remember,  we  are  but  chil- 
dren yet;  our  sins  are  the  sins  of  youth,  —  greedi- 
ness, intemperance,  petulance,  self-conceit.  When 
we  are  purged  from  our  youthful  sins,  England  will 
not  be  ashamed  of  her  child." 

"  Ashamed  of  you?  I  often  wish  I  could  make 
Americans  understand  the  feeling  of  England  to 
you  —  the  honest  pride,  as  of  a  mother  who  has 
brought  into  the  world  the  biggest  baby  that  ever 
this  earth  beheld,  and  is  rather  proud  of  its  stamp- 
ing about  and  beating  her  in  its  pretty  pets.  Only 
the  old  lady  does  get  a  little  cross  when  she  hears 
you  talk  of  the  wrongs  which  you  have  endured 
from  her,  and  teaching  your  children  to  hate  us  as 
their  ancient  oppressors,  on  the  ground  of  a  foolish, 
war,  of  which  every  Englishman  is  utterly  ashamed, 
and  in  the  result  of  which  he  glories  really  as  much 
as  you  do." 

"  Don't  talk  of  'you,'  Claude !  You  know  well 
what  I  think  on  that  point.  Never  did  one  nation 
make  the  amende  honorable  to  another  more  fully 
and  nobly  than  you  have  to  us;  and  those  who 
try  to  keep  up  the  quarrel  are  —  I  won't  say  what. 
But  the  truth  is,  Claude,  we  have  had  no  real  sor- 
rows ;  and  therefore  we  can  afford  to  play  with  im- 
aginary ones.  God  grant  that  we  may  not  have  our 
real  ones  —  that  we  may  not  have  to  drink  of  the  cup 
of  which  our  great  mother  drank  two  years  ago  ! " 

"  It  was  a  wholesome  bitter  for  us ;  and  it  may 
be  so  for  you  likewise :  but  we  will  have  no  sad 
forebodings  on  the  eve  of  the  blessed  Christmas- 
tide.  He  lives,  He  loves,  He  reigns;  and  all  is 
well,  for  we  are  His,  and  He  is  ours." 


Prologue  7 

"  Ah,"  said  Stangrave,  "  when  Emerson  sneered 
at  you  English  for  believing  your  Old  Testament, 
he  little  thought  that  that  was  the  lesson  which  it 
had  taught  you ;  and  that  that  same  lesson  was 
the  root  of  all  your  greatness.  That  that  belief  in 
God's  being,  in  some  mysterious  way,  the  living 
King  of  England  and  of  Christendom,  has  been 
the  very  idea  which  has  kept  you  in  peace  and 
safety  now  for  many  a  hundred  years,  moving  slowly 
on  from  good  to  better,  not  without  many  back- 
slidings  and  many  shortcomings,  but  still  finding 
out,  quickly  enough,  when  you  were  on  the  wrong 
road,  and  not  ashamed  to  retrace  your  steps,  and 
to  reform,  as  brave  strong  men  should  dare  to  do ; 
a  people  who  have  been  for  many  an  age  in  the 
vanguard  of  all  the  nations,  and  the  champions  of 
sure  and  solid  progress  throughout  the  world ; 
because  what  is  new  among  you  is  not  patched 
artificially  on  to  the  old,  but  grows  organically  out 
of  it,  with  a  growth  like  that  of  your  own  English 
oak,  whose  every  new-year's  leaf-crop  is  fed  by 
roots  which  burrow  deep  in  many  a  buried  genera- 
tion, and  the  rich  soil  of  full  a  thousand  years." 

"  Stay !  "  said  the  little  artist.  "  We  are  quite 
conceited  enough  already,  without  your  eloquent 
adulation,  sir  !  But  there  is  a  truth  in  your  words. 
There  is  a  better  spirit  roused  among  us,  and  that 
not  merely  of  two  years  ago.  I  knew  this  part  of 
the  country  well  in  1 846-7-8,  and  since  then,  I  can 
bear  witness,  a  spirit  of  self-reform  has  been 
awakened  round  here,  in  many  a  heart  which  I 
thought  once  utterly  frivolous.  I  find,  in  every  circle 
of  every  class,  men  and  women  asking  to  be  taught 
their  duty,  that  they  may  go  and  do  it;  I  find 
everywhere  schools,  libraries,  and  mechanics'  insti- 


8  Two  Years  Ago 

tutes  springing  up:  and  rich  and  poor  meeting 
together  more  and  more  in  the  faith  that  God  has 
made  them  all.  As  for  the  outward  and  material 
improvements  —  you  know  as  well  as  I,  that  since 
free  trade  and  emigration,  the  laborers  confess 
themselves  better  off  than  they  have  been  for  fifty 
years ;  and  though  you  will  not  see  in  the  chalk 
counties  that  rapid  and  enormous  agricultural  im- 
provement which  you  will  in  Lincolnshire,  York- 
shire, or  the  Lothians,  yet  you  shall  see  enough 
to-day  to  settle  for  you  the  question  whether  we 
old-country  folk  are  in  a  state  of  decadence  and 
decay.  Par  exemple " 

And  Claude  pointed  to  the  clean  large  fields, 
with  their  neat  close-clipt  hedgerows,  among  which 
here  and  there  stood  cottages,  more  than  three- 
fourths  of  them  new. 

"  Those  well-drained  fallow  fields,  ten  years  ago, 
were  poor  clay  pastures,  fetlock  deep  in  mire  six 
months  in  the  year,  and  accursed  in  the  eyes  of  my 
poor  dear  old  friend,  Squire  Lavington;  because 
they  were  so  full  of  old  moles'-nests,  that  they 
threw  all  horses  down.  I  am  no  farmer:  but 
they  seem  surely  to  be  somewhat  altered  since 
then." 

As  he  spoke,  they  turned  off  the  main  line  of 
the  rolling  clays  toward  the  foot  of  the  chalk-hills, 
and  began  to  brush  through  short  cuttings  of  blue 
gault  and  "  green  sand,"  so  called  by  geologists, 
because  its  usual  colors  are  bright  brown,  snow- 
white,  and  crimson. 

Soon  they  get  glimpses  of  broad  silver  Whit, 
as  she  slides,  with  divided  streams,  through  bright 
water-meadows,  and  stately  groves  of  poplar,  and 
abele,  and  pine ;  while,  far  aloft  upon  the  left,  the 


Prologue  9 

downs  rise  steep,  crowned  with  black  fir  spinnies, 
and  dotted  with  dark  box  and  juniper. 

Soon  they  pass  old  Whitford  Priory,  with  its 
numberless  gables  nestling  amid  mighty  elms,  and 
the  Nunpool  flashing  and  roaring  as  of  old,  and 
the  broad  shallow  below  sparkling  and  laughing 
in  the  low,  but  bright  December  sun. 

"  So  slides  on  the  noble  river,  forever  changing, 
and  yet  forever  the  same  —  always  fulfilling  its 
errand,  which  yet  is  never  fulfilled,"  said  Stan- 
grave,  —  he  was  given  to  half-mystic  utterances, 
and  hankerings  after  pagan  mythology,  learnt  in 
the  days  when  he  worshipped  Emerson,  and  tried 
(but  unsuccessfully)  to  worship  Margaret  Fuller 
Ossoli.  Those  old  Greeks  had  a  deep  insight 
into  nature,  when  they  gave  to  each  river  not 
merely  a  name,  but  a  semi-human  personality,  a 
river-god  of  its  own.  It  may  be  but  a  collection  of 
ever-changing  atoms  of  water ;  what  is  your  body 
but  a  similar  collection  of  atoms,  decaying  and 
renewing  every  moment?  Yet  you  are  a  person; 
and  is  not  the  river,  too,  a  person  —  a  live  thing? 
It  has  an  individual  countenance  which  you  love, 
which  you  would  recognize  again,  meet  it  where 
you  will ;  it  marks  the  whole  landscape ;  it  deter- 
mines probably  the  geography  and  the  society 
of  a  whole  district.  It  draws  you,  too,  to  itself 
by  an  indefinable  mesmeric  attraction.  If  you 
stop  in  a  strange  place,  the  first  instinct  of  your 
idle  half-hour  is  to  lounge  by  the  river.  It  is  a 
person  to  you;  you  call  it  —  Scotchmen  do,  at 
least  —  she,  and  not  it.  How  do  you  know  that 
you  are  not  philosophically  correct,  and  that  the 
river  has  a  spirit  as  well  as  you?" 

"  Humph  1 "  said   Claude,  who  talks  mysticism 


io  Two  Years  Ago 

himself  by  the  hour,  but  snubs  it  in  every  one  else. 
"  It  has  trout,  at  least;  and  they  stand,  I  suppose, 
for  its  soul,  as  the  raisins  did  for  those  of  Jean 
Paul's  gingerbread  bride  and  bridegroom  and  per- 
adventure  baby." 

"  Oh  you  materialist  English  !  sporting-mad  all 
of  you,  from  the  duke  who  shooteth  stags  to  the 
clod  who  poacheth  rabbits !  " 

"  And  who  therefore  can  fight  Russians  at  In- 
kerman,  duke  and  clod  alike,  and  side  by  side; 
never  better  (says  the  chronicler  of  old)  than  in 
their  first  battle.  I  can  neither  fight  nor  fish,  and 
on  the  whole  agree  with  you :  but  I  think  it  proper 
to  be  as  English  as  I  can  in  the  presence  of  an 
American." 

A  whistle  —  a  creak  —  a  jar;  and  they  stop  at 
the  little  Whitford  station,  where  a  cicerone  for 
the  vale,  far  better  than  Claude  was,  made  his 
appearance,  in  the  person  of  Mark  Armsworth, 
banker,  railway  director,  and  de  facto  king  of 
Whitbury  town,  long  since  elected  by  universal 
suffrage  (his  own  vote  included)  as  permanent 
locum  tenens  of  her  gracious  Majesty. 

He  hails  Claude  cheerfully  from  the  platform,  as 
he  waddles  about,  with  a  face  as  of  the  rising  sun, 
radiant  with  good  fun,  good  humor,  good  deeds, 
good  news,  and  good  living.  His  coat  was  scarlet 
once,  but  purple  now.  His  leathers  and  boots 
were  doubtless  clean  this  morning;  but  are  now 
afflicted  with  elephantiasis,  being  three  inches  deep 
in  solid  mud,  which  his  old  groom  is  scraping  off  as 
fast  as  he  can.  His  cap  is  duntled  in ;  his  back  bears 
fresh  stains  of  peat ;  a  gentle  rain  distils  from  the 
few  angles  of  his  person,  and  bedews  the  platform; 
for  Mark  Armsworth  has  "  been  in  Whit "  to-day. 


Prologue  1 1 

All  porters  and  guards  touch  their  hats  to  him ; 
the  station-master  rushes  up  and  down  frantically, 
shouting,  "Where  are  those  horse-boxes?  Now 
then,  look  alive  ! "  for  Mark  is  chairman  of  the 
line,  and  everybody's  friend  beside;  and  as  he 
stands  there  being  scraped,  he  finds  time  to  in- 
quire after  every  one  of  the  officials  by  turns,  and 
after  their  wives,  children,  and  sweethearts  beside. 

"  What  a  fine  specimen  of  your  English  squire !  " 
says  Stangrave. 

"  He  is  no  squire ;  he  is  the  Whitbury  banker, 
of  whom  I  told  you." 

"  Armsworth !  "  said  Stangrave,  looking  at  the 
old  man  with  interest. 

"  Mark  Armsworth  himself.  He  is  acting  as 
squire,  though,  now;  for  he  has  hunted  the 
Whitford  Priors  ever  since  poor  old  Lavington's 
death." 

"  Now  then  —  those  horse-boxes  !  "  — 

"Very  sorry,  sir;  I  telegraphed  up,  but  we 
could  get  but  one  down." 

"  Put  the  horses  into  that,  then ;  and  there 's  an 
empty  carriage  !  Jack,  put  the  hounds  into  it, 
and  they  shall  all  go  second-class,  as  sure  as  I  'm 
chairman  !  " 

The  grinning  porters  hand  the  strange  passen- 
gers in,  while  Mark  counts  the  couples  with  his 
whip-point : 

"  Ravager  —  Roysterer ;  Melody  —  Gay-lass ; 
all  right.  Why,  where 's  that  old  thief  of  a 
Goodman?" 

"  Went  over  a  gate  as  soon  as  he  saw  the 
couples ;  and  would  n't  come  in  at  any  price,  sir," 
says  the  huntsman.  "  Gone  home  by  himself,  I 
expect." 


1 2  Two  Years  Ago 

"  Goodman,  Goodman,  boy !  "  And  forthwith 
out  of  the  station-room  slips  the  noble  old  hound, 
gray-nosed,  gray-eyebrowed,  who  has  hidden,  for 
purposes  of  his  own,  till  he  sees  all  the  rest  safe 
locked  in. 

Up  he  goes  to  Mark,  and  begins  wriggling 
against  his  knees,  and  looking  up  as  only  dogs 
can.  "Oh,  want  to  go  first-class  with  me,  eh? 
Jump  in,  then !  "  And  in  jumps  the  hound,  and 
Mark  struggles  after  him. 

"  Hillo,  sir  !  Come  out !  Here  are  your  betters 
here  before  you,"  as  he  sees  Stangrave,  and  a  fat 
old  lady  in  the  opposite  corner. 

"  Oh,  no ;  let  the  dog  stay !  "  says  Stangrave. 

"  I  shall  wet  you,  sir,  I  'm  afraid." 

"  Oh,  no." 

And  Mark  settles  himself,  puffing,  with  the 
hound's  head  on  his  knees,  and  begins  talking 
fast  and  loud. 

"Well,  Mr.  Mellot,  you're  a  stranger  here. 
Haven't  seen  you  since  poor  Miss  Honor  died. 
Ah,  sweet  angel  she  was !  Thought  my  Mary 
would  never  get  over  it.  She 's  just  such  another, 
though  I  say  it,  barring  the  beauty.  Goodman, 
boy !  You  recollect  old  Goodman,  son  of  Gal- 
loper, that  the  old  squire  gave  our  old  squire?  " 

Claude,  of  course,  knows  —  as  all  do  who  know 
those  parts  —  who  the  Old  Squire  is;  long  may 
he  live,  patriarch  of  the  chase !  The  genealogy 
he  does  not. 

"Ah,  well  —  Miss  Honor  took  to  the  pup,  and 
used  to  walk  him  out ;  and  a  prince  of  a  hound  he 
is ;  so  now  he 's  old  we  let  him  have  his  own  way, 
for  her  sake ;  and  nobody  '11  ever  bully  you,  will 
they,  Goodman,  my  boy?" 


Prologue  1 3 

"  I  want  to  introduce  you  to  a  friend  of 
mine." 

"Proud  to  know  any  friend  of  yours,  sir." 

"Mr.  Stangrave  —  Mr.  Armsworth.  Mr.  Stan- 
grave  is  an  American  gentleman,  who  is  anxious 
to  see  Whitbury  and  the  neighborhood." 

"  Well,  I  shall  be  happy  to  show  it  him,  then  — 
can't  have  a  better  guide,  though  I  say  it  —  know 
everything  by  this  time,  and  everybody,  man, 
woman,  and  child,  as  I  hope  Mr.  Stangrave  '11  find 
when  he  gets  to  know  old  Mark." 

"You  must  not  speak  of  getting  to  know  you, 
my  dear  sir;  I  know  you  intimately  already,  I 
assure  you ;  and  more,  am  under  very  deep  obliga- 
tions to  you,  which,  I  regret  to  say,  I  can  only 
repay  by  thanks." 

"  Obligation  to  me,  my  dear  sir?  " 

"  Indeed  I  am :  I  will  tell  you  all  when  we  are 
alone."  And  Stangrave  glanced  at  the  fat  old 
woman,  who  seemed  to  be  listening  intently. 

"  Oh,  never  mind  her,"  says  Armsworth ;  "  deaf 
as  a  post:  very  good  woman,  but  so  deaf — ought 
to  speak  to  her,  though"  —  and,  reaching  across, 
to  the  infinite  amusement  of  his  companions,  he 
roared  in  the  fat  woman's  face,  with  a  voice  as  of 
a  speaking-trumpet,  "  Glad  to  see  you,  Mrs. 
Grove !  Got  those  dividends  ready  for  you  next 
time  you  come  into  town." 

"  Yah !  "  screamed  the  hapless  woman,  who  (as 
the  rest  saw)  heard  perfectly  well.  "  What  do 
you  mean,  frightening  a  lady  in  that  way?  Deaf, 
indeed !  " 

"  Why,"  roared  Mark  again,  "  ain't  you  Mrs. 
Grove,  of  Drytown  Dirtywater?" 

"  No,  nor  no  acquaintance !     What  business  is  it 


14  Two  Years  Ago 

of  yourn,  sir,  to  go  hollering  in  ladies'  faces  at 
your  age?" 

"  Well :  — but  I  '11  swear  if  you  ain't  her,  you  're 
somebody  else.  I  know  you  as  well  as  the  town 
clock." 

"  Me?  If  you  must  know,  sir,  I  'm  Mrs.  Petti- 
grew's  mother,  the  linendraper's  establishment, 
sir ;  a-going  down  for  Christmas,  sir !  " 

"  Humph  !  "  says  Mark;  "  you  see — was  sure  I 
knew  her  —  know  everybody  here.  As  I  said,  if 
she  was  n't  Mrs.  Grove,  she  was  somebody  else. 
Ever  in  these  parts  before  ?  " 

"  Never :  but  I  have  heard  a  good  deal  of  them ; 
and  very  much  charmed  with  them  I  am.  I 
have  seldom  seen  a  more  distinctive  specimen 
of  English  scenery." 

"  And  how  you  are  improving  round  here ! " 
said  Claude,  who  knew  Mark's  weak  points,  and 
wanted  to  draw  him  out.  "  Your  homesteads 
seem  all  new ;  three  fields  have  been  thrown  into 
one,  I  fancy,  over  half  the  farms." 

Mark  broke  out  at  once  on  his  favorite  topic. 
"  I  believe  you  !  I  'm  making  the  mare  go  here  in 
Whitford,  without  the  money  too,  sometimes.  I  'm 
steward  now,  bailiff — ha!  ha!  these  four  years 
past  —  to  Mrs.  Lavington's  Irish  husband ;  I 
wanted  him  to  have  a  regular  agent,  a  canny  Scot, 
or  Yorkshireman.  Faith,  the  poor  man  could  n't 
afford  it,  and  so  fell  back  on  old  Mark.  Paddy 
loves  a  job,  you  know.  So  I  Ve  the  votes  and  the 
fishing,  and  send  him  his  rents,  and  manage  all  the 
rest  pretty  much  my  own  way." 

When  the  name  of  Lavington  was  mentioned, 
Mark  observed  Stangrave  start ;  and  an  expression 
passed  over  his  face  difficult  to  be  denned  —  it 


Prologue  1 5 

seemed  to  Mark  mingled  pride  and  shame.  He 
turned  to  Claude,  and  said,  in  a  low  voice,  but 
loud  enough  for  Mark  to  hear: 

"  Lavington  ?  Is  this  their  country  also  ?  As  I 
am  going  to  visit  the  graves  of  my  ancestors,  I 
suppose  I  ought  to  visit  those  of  hers." 

Mark  caught  the  words  which  he  was  not  in- 
tended to. 

"Eh?     Sir,  do  you  belong  to  these  parts?" 

"  My  family,  I  believe,  lived  in  the  neighbor- 
hood of  Whitbury,  at  a  place  called  Stangrave-end." 

"  To  be  sure !  Old  farmhouse  now ;  fine  old 
oak  carving  in  it,  though ;  fine  old  family  it  must 
have  been ;  church  full  of  their  monuments.  Hum, 
—  ha !  Well !  that 's  pleasant,  now !  I  Ve  often 
heard  there  were  good  families  away  there  in  New 
England ;  never  thought  that  there  were  Whitbury 
people  among  them.  Hum  —  well !  the  world  's 
not  so  big  as  people  think,  after  all.  And  you 
spoke  of  the  Lavingtons?  They  are  great  folks 

here  —  or  were "  He  was  going  to  rattle  on : 

but  he  saw  a  pained  expression  on  both  the 
travellers'  faces,  and  Stangrave  stopped  him,  some- 
what drily 

"  I  know  nothing  of  them,  I  assure  you,  or  they 
of  me.  Your  country  here  is  certainly  charming, 
and  shows  little  of  those  signs  of  decay  which 
some  people  in  America  impute  to  it." 

"  Decay !  "  Mark  went  off  at  score.  "  Decay  be 
hanged  !  There 's  life  in  the  old  dog  yet,  sir ! 
and  dead  pigs  are  looking  up  since  free  trade  and 
emigration.  Cheap  bread  and  high  wages  now; 
and  instead  of  lands  going  out  of  cultivation,  as 
they  threatened — bosh  !  there's  a  greater  breadth 
down  in  wheat  in  the  vale  now  than  there  ever 


1 6  Two  Years  Ago 

was;  and  look  at  the  roots.  Farmers  must  farm 
now,  or  sink;  and,  by  George!  they  are  farming, 
like  sensible  fellows ;  and  a  fig  for  that  old  turnip 
ghost  of  Protection!  There  was  a  fellow  came 
down  from  the  Carlton  —  you  know  what  that  is?" 
Stangrave  bowed,  and  smiled  assent.  "  From  the 
Carlton,  sir,  two  years  since,  and  tried  it  on,  till  he 
fell  in  with  old  Mark.  I  told  him  a  thing  or  two ; 
among  the  rest,  told  him  to  his  face  that  he  was  a 
liar ;  for  he  wanted  to  make  farmers  believe  they 
were  ruined,  when  he  knew  they  were  not;  and 
that  he  'd  get  'em  back  Protection,  when  he  knew 
that  he  could  n't  —  and,  what 's  more,  he  did  n't 
mean  to.  So  he  cut  up  rough,  and  wanted  to  call 
me  out." 

"Did  you  go?"  asked  Stangrave,  who  was  fast 
becoming  amused  with  his  man. 

"  I  told  him  that  that  was  n't  my  line,  unless 
he  'd  try  Eley's  greens  at  forty  yards ;  and  then  I 
was  his  man :  but  if  he  laid  a  finger  on  me,  I  'd 
give  him  as  sound  a  horsewhipping,  old  as  I  am, 
as  ever  man  had  in  his  life.  And  so  I  would." 
And  Mark  looked  complacently  at  his  own  broad 
shoulders.  "  And  since  then,  my  lord  and  I  have 
had  it  all  our  own  way ;  and  Minchampstead  and 
Co.  is  the  only  firm  in  the  vale." 

"  What's  become  of  a  Lord  Vieuxbois  who  used 
to  live  somewhere  hereabouts?  I  used  to  meet 
him  at  Rome." 

"  Rome  ?  "  said  Mark,  solemnly.  "  Yes ;  he  was 
too  fond  of  Rome,  awhile  back:  can't  see  what 
people  want  running  into  foreign  parts  to  look  at 
those  poor  idolaters,  and  their  Punch  and  Judy 
plays.  Pray  for  'em,  and  keep  clear  of  them,  is 
the  best  rule:  but  he  has  married  my  lord's 


Prologue  1 7 

youngest  daughter;  and  three  pretty  children  he 
has,  —  ducks  of  children.  Always  comes  to  see 
me  in  my  shop,  when  he  drives  into  town.  Oh !  — 
he 's  doing  pretty  well.  One  of  these  new  between- 
the-stools,  Peelites  they  call  them  —  hope  they  '11  be 
as  good  as  the  name.  However,  he 's  a  free-trader, 
because  he  can't  help  it.  So  we  have  his  votes ;  and 
as  to  his  Conservatism,  let  him  conserve  hips  and 
haws  if  he  chooses,  like  a  'pothecary.  After  all,  why 
pull  down  anything,  before  it 's  tumbling  on  your 
head  ?  By  the  by,  sir,  as  you  're  a  man  of  money, 
there 's  that  Stangrave-end  farm  in  the  market  now. 
Pretty  little  investment,  —  I  'd  see  that  you  got  it 
cheap ;  and  my  lord  would  n't  bid  against  you,  of 
course,  as  you're  a  Liberal — all  Americans  are,  I 
suppose.  And  so  you  'd  oblige  us,  as  well  as  your- 
self, for  it  would  give  us  another  vote  for  the  county." 

"  Upon  my  word,  you  tempt  me ;  but  do  not 
think  that  this  is  just  the  moment  for  an  American 
to  desert  his  own  country,  and  settle  in  England. 
I  should  not  be  here  now,  had  I  not  this  autumn 
done  all  I  could  for  America  in  America,  and  so 
crossed  the  sea  to  serve  her,  if  possible,  in  England." 

"Well,  perhaps  not;  especially  if  you're  a 
Fremonter." 

"I  am,  I  assure  you." 

"  Thought  as  much,  by  your  looks.  Don't  see 
what  else  an  honest  man  can  be  just  now." 

Stangrave  laughed.  "  I  hope  every  one  thinks 
so  in  England." 

"  Trust  us  for  that,  sir !  We  know  a  man  when 
we  see  him  here;  I  hope  they'll  do  the  same 
across  the  water." 

There  was  silence  for  a  minute  or  two ;  and  then 
Mark  began  again. 


1 8  Two  Years  Ago 

"  Look  !  —  there  's  the  farm ;  that  *s  my  lord's. 
I  should  like  to  show  you  the  shorthorns  there, 
sir !  —  all  my  Lord  Ducie's  and  Sir  Edward 
Knightley's  stock;  bought  a  bull-<alf  of  him 
the  other  day  myself  for  a  cool  hundred,  old  fool 
that  I  am.  Never  mind,  spreads  the  breed.  And 
here  are  mills  —  four  pair  of  new  stones.  Old 
Whit  don't  know  herself  again.  But  I  dare  say, 
they  look  small  enough  to  you,  sir,  after  your 
American  water-power." 

"What  of  that?  It  is  just  as  honorable  in  you 
to  make  the  most  of  a  small  river,  as  in  us  to 
make  the  most  of  a  large  one." 

"  You  speak  like  a  book,  sir.  By  the  by,  if  you 
think  of  taking  home  a  calf  or  two,  to  improve 
your  New  England  breed  —  there  are  a  good 
many  gone  across  the  sea  in  the  last  few  years 
—  I  think  we  could  rind  you  three  or  four  beauties, 
not  so  very  dear,  considering  the  blood." 

"  Thanks ;  but  I  really  am  no  farmer." 

"  Well  —  no  offence,  I  hope :  but  I  am  like  your 
Yankees  in  one  thing,  you  see ;  —  always  have  an 
eye  to  a  bit  of  business.  If  I  did  n't,  I  should  n't 
be  here  now." 

"  How  very  tasteful !  —  our  own  American 
shrubs !  what  a  pity  that  they  are  not  in  flower ! 
What  is  this,"  asked  Stangrave,  —  "  one  of  your 
noblemen's  parks?  " 

And  they  began  to  run  through  the  cutting  in 
Minchampstead  Park,  where  the  owner  has  con- 
cealed the  banks  of  the  rail  for  nearly  half  a  mile 
in  a  thicket  of  azaleas,  rhododendrons,  and  clam- 
bering roses. 

"Ah!  —  is  n't  it  pretty?  His  lordship  let  us 
have  the  land  for  a  song ;  only  bargained  that  we 


Prologue  1 9 

should  keep  low,  not  to  spoil  his  view ;  and  so  we 
did ;  and  he 's  planted  our  cutting  for  us.  I  call 
that  a  present  to  the  county,  and  a  very  pretty 
one  too !  Ah,  give  me  these  new  brooms  that 
sweep  clean !  " 

"Your  old  brooms,  like  Lord  Vieuxbois,  were 
new  brooms  once,  and  swept  well  enough  five 
hundred  years  ago,"  said  Stangrave,  who  had  that 
filial  reverence  for  English  antiquity  which  sits  so 
gracefully  upon  many  highly  educated  and  far- 
sighted  Americans. 

"  Worn  to  the  stumps  now,  too  many  of  them, 
sir;  and  want  new-heathing,  as  our  broom- 
squires  would  say ;  and  I  doubt  whether  most  of 
them  are  worth  the  cost  of  a  fresh  bind.  Not  that 
I  can  say  that  of  the  young  lord.  He 's  foremost 
in  all  that 's  good,  if  he  had  but  money ;  and  when 
he  has  n't,  he  gives  brains.  Gave  a  lecture  in  our 
institute  at  Whitford,  last  winter,  on  the  four 
great  Poets.  Shot  over  my  head  a  little,  and  other 
people's  too;  but  my  Mary  —  my  daughter,  sir  — 
thought  it  beautiful ;  and  there  's  nothing  that  she 
don't  know." 

"  It  is  very  hopeful  to  see  your  aristocracy  join- 
ing in  the  general  movement,  and  bringing  their 
taste  and  knowledge  to  bear  on  the  lower  classes." 

"  Yes,  sir !  We  're  going  all  right  now  in  the 
old  country.  Only  have  to  steer  straight,  and  not 
put  on  too  much  steam.  But  give  me  the  new- 
comers, after  all.  They  may  be  close  men  of  busi- 
ness ;  how  else  could  one  live  ?  But  when  it  comes 
to  giving,  I  '11  back  them  against  the  old  ones  for 
generosity,  or  taste  either.  They  Ve  their  proper 
pride,  when  they  get  hold  of  the  land ;  and  they 
like  to  show  it,  and  quite  right  they.  You  must 
Vol.  10— B 


2O  Two  Years  Ago 

see  my  little  place  too.  It 's  not  in  such  bad  order, 
though  I  say  it,  and  am  but  a  country  banker ;  but 
I  '11  back  my  flowers  against  half  the  squires  round 

—  my  Mary's,  that  is  —  and  my  fruit,  too.     See, 
there !     There 's   my  lord's  new  schools,  and  his 
model  cottages,  with  more  comforts  in  them,  saving 
the  size,  than  my  father's  house  had ;    and  there 's 
his  barrack,  as  he  calls  it,  for  the  unmarried  men 

—  reading-room  and  dining-room  in  common ;  and 
a  library  of  books,  and  a  sleeping-room  for  each." 

"  It  seems  strange  to  complain  of  prosperity," 
said  Stangrave ;  "  but  I  sometimes  regret  that  in 
America  there  is  so  little  room  for  the  very  highest 
virtues;  all  are  so  well  off  that  one  never  needs 
to  give;  and  what  a  man  does  here  for  others, 
they  do  for  themselves." 

"  So  much  the  better  for  them.  There  are  other 
ways  of  being  generous  besides  putting  your  hand 
in  your  pocket,  sir !  By  Jove  !  there  '11  be  room 
enough  (if  you  '11  excuse  me)  for  an  American 
to  do  fine  things,  as  long  as  those  poor  negro 
slaves " 

"  I  know  it,  I  know  it,"  said  Stangrave,  in  the 
tone  of  a  man  who  had  already  made  up  his  mind 
on  a  painful  subject,  and  wished  to  hear  no  more 
of  it.  "  You  will  excuse  me ;  but  I  am  come  here  to 
learn  what  I  can  of  England.  Of  my  own  country 
I  know  enough,  I  trust,  to  do  my  duty  in  it  when 
I  return." 

Mark  was  silent,  seeing  that  he  had  touched  a 
tender  place;  and  pointed  out  one  object  of 
interest  after  another,  as  they  ran  through  the  flat 
park,  past  the  great  house  with  its  Doric  facade, 
which  the  eighteenth  century  had  raised  above 
the  quiet  cell  of  the  Minchampstead  recluses. 


Prologue  2 1 

"  It  is  very  ugly,"  said  Stangrave ;  and  truly. 

"  Comfortable  enough,  though ;  and  as  some- 
body said,  people  live  inside  their  houses,  and  not 
outside  'em.  You  should  see  the  pictures  there, 
though,  while  you  're  in  the  country.  I  can  show 
you  one  or  two,  too,  I  hope.  Never  grudge  money 
for  good  pictures.  The  pleasantest  furniture  in  the 
world,  as  long  as  you  keep  them ;  and  if  you  're 
tired  of  them,  always  fetch  double  their  price." 

After  Minchampstead,  the  rail  leaves  the  sands 
and  clays,  and  turns  up  between  the  chalk  hills, 
along  the  barge  river,  which  it  has  rendered 
useless,  save  as  a  supernumerary  trout-stream; 
and  then  along  Whit,  now  flowing  clearer  and 
clearer,  as  we  approach  its  springs  amid  the  lofty 
downs.  On  through  more  water-meadows,  and  rows 
of  pollard  willow,  and  peat-pits  crested  with  tall 
golden  reeds,  and  still  dykes  —  each  in  summer 
a  floating  flower-bed ;  while  Stangrave  looks  out 
of  the  window,  his  face  lighting  up  with  curiosity. 

"  How  perfectly  English !  At  least,  how  per- 
fectly un-American !  It  is  just  Tennyson's  beau- 
tiful dream  — 

" '  On  either  side  the  river  lie 
Long  fields  of  barley  and  of  rye, 
Which  clothe  the  wold  and  meet  the  sky, 
And  through  the  field  the  sfream  runs  by, 
To  many-towered  Camelot.':' 

"  Why,  what  is  this  ?  "  as  they  stop  again  at  a 
station,  where  the  board  bears,  in  large  letters, 
"Shalott." 

"  Shalott?    Where  are  the 

"  '  Four  gray  walls  and  four  gray  towers,' 
which  overlook  a  space  of  flowers?  " 


22  Two  Years  Ago 

There,  upon  the  little  island,  are  the  castle-ruins, 
now  converted  into  a  useful  bone-mill.  "  And  the 
lady?  — is  that  she?" 

It  was  only  the  miller's  daughter,  fresh  from  a 
boarding-school,  gardening  in  a  broad  straw  hat 

"  At  least,"  said  Claude,  "  she  is  tending  far 
prettier  flowers  than  ever  the  lady  saw ;  while  the 
lady  herself,  instead  of  weaving  and  dreaming,  is 
reading  Miss  Yonge's  novels,  and  becoming  all 
the  wiser  thereby,  and  teaching  poor  children  in 
Hemmelford  National  School." 

"  And  where  is  her  fairy  knight?  "  asked  Stan- 
grave,  "  whom  one  half  hopes  to  see  riding  down 
from  that  grand  old  house  which  sulks  there  above 
among  the  beech-woods,  as  if  frowning  on  all  the 
change  and  civilization  below?  " 

"You  do  old  Sidricstone  injustice.  Vieuxbois 
descends  from  thence,  nowadays,  to  lecture  at 
mechanics'  institutes,  instead  of  the  fairy  knight, 
toiling  along  in  the  blazing  summer  weather,  sweat- 
ing in  burning  metal,  like  poor  Perillus  in  his  own 
bull." 

"  Then  the  fairy  knight  is  extinct  in  England?" 
asked  Stangrave,  smiling. 

"  No  man  less ;  only  he  (not  Vieuxbois,  but  his 
younger  brother)  has  found  a  wide-awake  cooler 
than  an  iron  kettle,  and  travels  by  rail  when  he  is 
at  home ;  and,  when  he  was  in  the  Crimea,  rode  a 
shaggy  pony,  and  smoked  cavendish  all  through 
the  battle  of  Inkerman." 

"  He  showed  himself  the  old  Sir  Lancelot 
there,"  said  Stangrave. 

"  He  did.  Wherefore  the  lady  married  him 
when  the  Guards  came  home ;  and  he  will  breed 
prize  pigs,  and  sit  at  the  board  of  guardians, 


Prologue  23 

and  take  in  the  '  Times,'  clothed  and  in  his  right 
mind;  for  the  old  Berserk  spirit  is  gone  out  of 
him,  and  he  is  become  respectable,  in  a  respect- 
able age,  and  is  nevertheless  just  as  brave  a  fellow 
as  ever." 

"  And  so  all  things  are  changed,  except  the 
river ;  where  still  — 

" '  Willows  whiten,  aspens  quiver, 
Little  breezes  dash  and  shiver 
On  the  stream  that  runneth  ever.' " 

"  And,"  said  Claude,  smiling,  "  the  descendants 
of  mediaeval  trout  snap  at  the  descendants  of 
mediaeval  flies,  spinning  about  upon  just  the  same 
sized  and  colored  wings  on  which  their  forefathers 
spun  a  thousand  years  ago ;  having  become,  in  all 
that  while,  neither  bigger  nor  wiser." 

"  But  is  it  not  a  grand  thought,"  asked  Stan- 
grave,  "the  silence  and  permanence  of  nature  amid 
the  perpetual  flux  and  noise  of  human  life?  —  a 
grand  thought  that  one  generation  goeth,  and 
another  cometh,  and  the  earth  abideth  forever?  " 

"  At  least  it  is  so  much  the  worse  for  the  poor 
old  earth,  if  her  doom  is  to  stand  still,  while  man 
improves  and  progresses  from  age  to  age." 

"  May  I  ask  one  question,  sir?"  said  Stangrave, 
who  saw  that  their  conversation  was  puzzling  their 
jolly  companion.  "  Have  you  heard  any  news  yet 
of  Mr.  Thurnall?" 

Mark  looked  him  full  in  the  face. 

"  Did  you  know  him?  " 

"  I  did,  in  past  years,  most  intimately." 

"  Then  you  knew  the  finest  fellow,  sir,  that  ever 
walked  mortal  earth." 

"  I  have  discovered  that,  sir,  as  well  as  you.     I 


24  Two  Years  Ago 

am  under  obligations  to  that  man  which  my  heart's 
blood  will  not  repay.  I  shall  make  no  secret  of 
telling  you  what  they  are  at  a  fit  time." 

Mark  held  out  his  broad  red  hand  and  grasped 
Stangrave's  till  the  joints  cracked :  his  face  grew 
as  red  as  a  turkey-cock's;  his  eyes  filled  with 
tears. 

"  His  father  must  hear  that !  Hang  it !  his 
father  must  hear  that !  And  Grace  too  !  " 

"  Grace  !  "  said  Claude ;  "  and  is  she  with  you  ?  " 

"  With  the  old  man,  the  angel !  tending  him 
night  and  day." 

"And  as  beautiful  as  ever?  " 

"  Sir !  "  said  Mark,  solemnly,  "  when  any  one's 
soul  is  as  beautiful  as  hers  is,  one  never  thinks 
about  her  face." 

"  Who  is  Grace  ?  "  asked  Stangrave. 

"  A  saint  and  a  heroine  !  "  said  Claude.  "  You 
shall  know  all ;  for  you  ought  to  know.  But  you 
have  no  news  of  Tom ;  and  I  have  none,  either.  I 
am  losing  all  hope  now." 

"  I  'm  not,  sir !  "  said  Mark,  fiercely.  "  Sir,  that 
boy 's  not  dead ;  he  can't  be.  He  has  more  lives 
than  a  cat,  and  if  you  know  anything  of  him,  you 
ought  to  know  that." 

"  I  have  good  reason  to  know  it,  none  more : 
but " 

"  But,  sir.  But  what?  Harm  come  to  him,  sir? 
The  Lord  would  n't  harm  him,  for  his  father's  sake ; 
and  as  for  the  devil !  I  tell  you,  sir,  if  he  tried  to 
fly  away  with  him,  he  'd  have  to  drop  him  before 
he  'd  gone  a  mile !  "  And  Mark  began  blowing 
his  nose  violently,  and  getting  so  red  that  he 
seemed  on  the  point  of  going  into  a  fit. 

"  Tell  you  what  it  is,  gentlemen,"  said  he  at  last, 


Prologue  25 

"  you  come  and  stay  with  me,  and  see  his  father. 
It  will  comfort  the  old  man — and  —  and  comfort 
me  too;  for  I  get  down-hearted  about  him  at 
times." 

"  Strange  attraction  there  was  about  that  man," 
says  Stangrave,  sotto  voce,  to  Claude. 

"  He  was  like  a  son  to  him " 

"  Now,  gentlemen.    Mr.  Mellot,  you  don't  hunt?  " 

"  No,  thank  you,"  said  Claude. 

"  Mr.  Stangrave  does,  I  '11  warrant." 

"  I  have  at  various  times,  both  in  England  and 
in  Virginia." 

"  Ah !  Do  they  keep  up  the  real  sport  there,  eh  ? 
Well,  that's  the  best  thing  I've  heard  of  them. 
Sir !  —  my  horses  are  yours !  A  friend  of  that 
boy,  sir,  is  welcome  to  lame  the  whole  lot,  and  I 
won't  grumble.  Three  days  a  week,  sir.  Break- 
fast at  eight,  dinner  at  5.30 — -none  of  your  late 
London  hours  for  me,  Sir;  and  after  it  the  best 
bottle  of  port,  though  I  say  it,  short  of  my  friend 
S 's,  at  Reading." 

"  You  must  accept,"  whispered  Claude,  "  or  he 
will  be  angry." 

So  Stangrave  accepted ;  and  all  the  more  readily 
because  he  wanted  to  hear  from  the  good  banker 
many  things  about  the  lost  Tom  Thurnall. 

"  Here  we  are,"  cries  Mark.  "  Now  you  must 
excuse  me :  see  to  yourselves.  I  see  to  the  pup- 
pies. Dinner  at  5.30,  mind!  Come  along,  Good- 
man, boy !  " 

"  Is  this  Whitbury?"  asks  Stangrave. 

It  was  Whitbury,  indeed.  Pleasant  old  town, 
which  slopes  down  the  hillside  to  the  old  church, 
— just "  restored,"  though,  by  Lords  Minchamp- 


2.6  Two  Years  Ago 

stead  and  Vieuxbois,  not  without  Mark  Arms- 
•worth's  help,  to  its  ancient  beauty  of  gray  flint 
and  white  chinch  chequer-work,  and  quaint  wooden 
spire.  Pleasant  churchyard  round  it,  where  the 
dead  lie  looking  up  to  the  bright  southern  sun, 
among  huge  black  yews,  upon  their  knoll  of  white 
chalk  above  the  ancient  stream.  Pleasant  white 
wooden  bridge,  with  its  row  of  urchins  dropping 
flints  upon  the  noses  of  elephantine  trout,  or  fish- 
ing over  the  rail  with  crooked  pins,  while  hapless 
gudgeon  come  dangling  upward  between  stream 
and  sky,  with  a  look  of  sheepish  surprise  and 
shame,  as  of  a  school-boy  caught  stealing  apples, 
in  their  foolish  visages.  Pleasant  new  national 
schools  at  the  bridge  end,  whither  the  urchins 
scamper  at  the  sound  of  the  two-o'clock  bell. 
Though  it  be  an  ugly  pile  enough  of  bright  red 
brick,  it  is  doing  its  work,  as  Whitbury  folk  know 
well  by  now.  Pleasant,  too,  though  still  more 
ugly,  those  long  red  arms  of  new  houses  which 
Whitbury  is  stretching  out  along  its  fine  turn- 
pikes, especially  up  to  the  railway  station  beyond 
the  bridge,  and  to  the  smart  new  hotel,  which 
hopes  (but  hopes  in  vain)  to  outrival  the  ancient 
"Angler's  Rest."  Away  thither,  and  not  to  the 
Railway  Hotel,  they  trundle  in  a  fly,  leaving  Mark 
Armsworth  all  but  angry  because  they  will  not 
sleep,  as  well  as  breakfast,  lunch,  and  dine  with 
him  daily,  and  settle  in  the  good  old  inn,  with 
its  three  white  gables  overhanging  the  pavement, 
and  its  long  lattice  window  buried  deep  beneath 
them,  like  —  so  Stangrave  says  —  to  a  shrewd 
kindly  eye  under  a  bland  white  forehead. 

No,  good  old  inn;  not  such  shall  be  thy  fate, 
as  long  as  trout  are  trout,  and  men  have  wit  to 


Prologue  27 

catch  them.  For  art  thou  not  a  sacred  house? 
Art  thou  not  consecrate  to  the  Whitbury  brother- 
hood of  anglers  ?  Is  not  the  wainscot  of  that  long 
low  parlor  inscribed  with  many  a  famous  name? 
Are  not  its  walls  hung  with  many  a  famous  coun- 
tenance ?  Has  not  its  oak-ribbed  ceiling  rung,  for 
now  a  hundred  years,  to  the  laughter  of  painters, 
sculptors,  grave  divines  (unbending  at  least  there), 
great  lawyers,  statesmen,  wits,  even  of  Foote  and 
Quin  themselves ;  while  the  sleek  landlord  wiped 
the  cobwebs  off  another  magnum  of  that  grand 
old  port,  and  took  in  all  the  wisdom  with  a  quiet 
twinkle  of  his  sleepy  eye?  He  rests  now,  good 
old  man,  among  the  yews  beside  his  forefathers ; 
and  on  his  tomb  his  lengthy  epitaph,  writ  by  him- 
self; for  Barker  was  a  poet  in  his  way. 

Some  people  hold  the  same  epitaph  to  be  irrev- 
erent, because  in  a  '  list  of  Barker's  many  bless- 
ings occurs  the  profane  word  "  trout :  "  but  those 
trout,  and  the  custom  which  they  brought  him, 
had  made  the  old  man's  life  comfortable,  and  en- 
abled him  to  leave  a  competence  for  his  children ; 
and  why  should  not  a  man  honestly  thank  Heaven 
for  that  which  he  knows  has  done  him  good,  even 
though  it  be  but  fish? 

He  is  gone :  but  the  Whit  is  not,  nor  the  Whit- 
bury  club ;  nor  will,  while  old  Mark  Armsworth 
is  king  in  Whitbury,  and  sits  every  evening  in  the 
May-fly  season  at  the  table  head,  retailing  good 
stories  of  the  great  anglers  of  his  youth,  —  names 
which  you,  reader,  have  heard  many  a  time,  —  and 
who  could  do  many  things  besides  handling  a  blow- 
line.  But  though  the  club  is  not  what  it  was  fifty 
years  ago,  —  before  Norway  and  Scotland  became 
easy  of  access,  —  yet  it  is  still  an  important  insti- 


28  Two  Years  Ago 

tution  of  the  town,  to  the  members  whereof  all 
good  subjects  touch  their  hats;  for  does  not  the 
club  bring  into  the  town  good  money,  and  take  out 
again  only  fish,  which  cost  nothing  in  the  breeding? 
Did  not  the  club  present  the  Town-hall  with  a 
portrait  of  the  renowned  fishing  sculptor?  and  did 
it  not  (only  stipulating  that  the  school  should  be 
built  beyond  the  bridge  to  avoid  noise)  give  fifty 
pounds  to  the  said  school  but  five  years  ago,  in 
addition  to  Mark's  own  hundred  ? 

But  enough  of  this:  only  may  the  Whitbury 
club,  in  recompense  for  my  thus  handing  them 
down  to  immortality,  give  me  another  day  next 
year,  as  they  gave  me  this ;  and  may  the  May-fly 
be  strong  on,  and  a  southwest  gale  blowing ! 

In  the  course  of  the  next  week,  in  many  a  con- 
versation, the  three  men  compared  notes  as  to  the 
events  of  two  years  ago ;  and  each  supplied  the 
other  with  new  facts,  which  shall  be  duly  set  forth 
in  this  tale,  saving,  and  excepting,  of  course,  the 
real  reason  why  everybody  did  everything.  For 
—  as  everybody  knows  who  has  watched  life  —  the 
true  springs  of  all  human  action  are  generally 
those  which  fools  will  not  see,  which  wise  men  will 
not  mention;  so  that,  in  order  to  present  a  read- 
able tragedy  of  "Hamlet"  you,  must  always  "  omit 
the  part  of  Hamlet,"  and  probably  the  ghost  and 
the  queen  into  the  bargain. 


CHAPTER  I 

POETRY  AND  PROSE 

NOW,  to  tell  my  story,  —  if  not  as  it  ought  to 
be  told,  at  least  as  I  can  tell  it,  —  I  must 
go  back  sixteen  years,  to  the  days  when  Whitbury 
boasted  of  forty  coaches  per  diem  instead  of  one 
railway,  and  set  forth  how  in  its  southern  suburb 
there  stood  two  pleasant  houses  side  by  side,  with 
their  gardens  sloping  down  to  the  Whit,  and  parted 
from  each  other  only  by  the  high  brick  fruit-wall, 
through  which  there  used  to  be  a  door  of  commu- 
nication ;  for  the  two  occupiers  were  fast  friends. 
In  one  of  these  two  houses,  sixteen  years  ago,  lived 
our  friend  Mark  Armsworth,  banker,  solicitor,  land- 
agent,  churchwarden,  guardian  of  the  poor,  jus- 
tice of  the  peace,  —  in  a  word,  viceroy  of  Whit- 
bury  town,  and  far  more  potent  therein  than  her 
gracious  Majesty  Queen  Victoria.  In  the  other 
lived  Edward  Thurnall,  esquire,  doctor  of  medi- 
cine, and  consulting  physician  of  all  the  country 
round.  These  two  men  were  as  brothers,  and 
had  been  as  brothers  for  now  twenty  years,  though 
no  two  men  could  be  more  different,  save  in  the  two 
common  virtues  which  bound  them  to  each  other; 
and  that  was  that  they  both  were  honest  and  kind- 
hearted  men.  What  Mark's  character  was,  and  is, 
I  have  already  shown,  and  enough  of  it,  I  hope, 
to  make  my  readers  like  the  good  old  banker: 


30  Two  Years  Ago 

as  for  Doctor  Thurnall,  a  purer  or  gentler  soul 
never  entered  a  sick-room,  with  patient  wisdom 
in  his  brain  and  patient  tenderness  in  his  heart. 
Beloved  and  trusted  by  rich  and  poor,  he  had  made 
to  himself  a  practice  large  enough  to  enable  him  to 
settle  two  sons  well  in  his  own  profession;  the 
third  and  youngest  was  still  in  Whitbury.  He  was 
something  of  a  geologist,  too,  and  a  botanist,  and 
an  antiquarian ;  and  Mark  Armsworth,  who  knew, 
and  knows  still,  nothing  of  science,  looked  up  to 
the  doctor  as  an  inspired  sage,  quoted  him,  de- 
fended his  opinion,  right  or  wrong,  and  thrust  him 
forward  at  public  meetings,  and  in  all  places  and 
seasons,  much  to  the  modest  doctor's  discomfiture. 

The  good  doctor  was  sitting  in  his  study  on  the 
morning  on  which  my  tale  begins;  having  just 
finished  his  breakfast,  and  settled  to  his  micro- 
scope in  the  bay-window,  opening  on  the  lawn. 

A  beautiful  October  morning  it  was;  one  of 
those  in  which  Dame  Nature,  healthily  tired  with 
the  revelry  of  summer,  is  composing  herself,  with 
a  quiet  satisfied  smile,  for  her  winter's  sleep.  Sheets 
of  dappled  clouds  were  sliding  slowly  from  the  west; 
long  bars  of  hazy  blue  hung  over  the  southern 
chalk  downs  which  gleamed  pearly  gray  beneath 
the  low  southeastern  sun.  In  the  vale  below,  soft 
white  flakes  of  mist  still  hung  over  the  water 
meadows,  and  barred  the  dark  trunks  of  the  huge 
elms  and  poplars,  whose  fast-yellowing  leaves 
came  showering  down  at  the  very  rustle  of  the 
western  breeze,  spotting  the  grass  below.  The 
river  swirled  along,  glassy  no  more,  but  dingy 
gray  with  autumn  rains  and  rotting  leaves.  All 
beyond  the  garden  told  of  autumn,  bright  and 
peaceful,  even  in  decay ;  but  up  the  sunny  slope 


Poetry  and  Prose  31 

of  the  garden  itself,  and  to  the  very  window-sill, 
summer  still  lingered.  The  beds  of  red  verbena 
and  geranium  were  still  brilliant,  though  choked 
with  fallen  leaves  of  acacia  and  plane ;  the  canary 
plant,  still  untouched  by  frost,  twined  its  delicate 
green  leaves  and  more  delicate  yellow  blossoms 
through  the  crimson  lacework  of  the  Virginia- 
creeper;  and  the  great  yellow  noisette  swung  its 
long  canes  across  the  window,  filling 'all  the  air 
with  fruity  fragrance. 

And  the  good  doctor,  lifting  his  eyes  from  his 
microscope,  looked  out  upon  it  all  with  a  quiet 
satisfaction,  and  though  his  lips  did  not  move,  his 
eyes  seemed  to  be  thanking  God  for  it  all;  and 
thanking  Him,  too,  perhaps,  that  he  was  still  per- 
mitted to  gaze  upon  that  fair  world  outside.  For 
as  he  gazed,  he  started,  as  if  with  sudden  pain, 
and  passed  his  hand  across  his  eyes,  with  some- 
thing like  a  sigh,  and  then  looked  at  the  micro- 
scope no  more,  but  sat,  seemingly  absorbed  in 
thought,  while  upon  his  delicate  toil-worn  features 
and  high,  bland,  unwrinkled  forehead,  and  the  few 
soft  gray  locks  which  not  tim'e  —  for  he  was  scarcely 
fifty-five  —  but  long  labor  of  brain,  had  spared  to 
him,  there  lay  a  hopeful  calm,  as  of  a  man  who 
had  nigh  done  his  work,  and  felt  that  he  had 
not  altogether  done  it  ill;  an  autumnal  calm, 
resigned,  yet  full  of  cheerfulness,  which  harmo- 
nized fitly  with  the  quiet  beauty  of  the  decaying 
landscape  before  him. 

"  I  say,  daddy,  you  must  drop  that  microscope, 
and  put  on  your  shade.  You  are  ruining  those 
dear  old  eyes  of  yours  again,  in  spite  of  what 
Alexander  told  you." 

The  doctor  took  up  the  green  shade  which  lay 


32  Two  Years  Ago 

beside  him,  and  replaced  it  with  a  sigh  and  a 
smile. 

"  I  must  use  the  old  things  now  and  then,  till 
you  can  take  my  place  at  the  microscope,  Tom ; 
or  till  we  have,  as  we  ought  to  have,  a  first-rate 
analytical  chemist  settled  in  every  county  town, 
and  paid,  in  part  at  least,  out  of  the  county 
rates." 

The  "  Tom  "  who  had  spoken  was  one  of  two 
youths  of  eighteen,  who  stood  in  opposite  corners 
of  the  bay-window,  gazing  out  upon  the  landscape, 
but  evidently  with  thoughts  as  different  as  were 
their  complexions. 

Tom  was  of  that  bull-terrier  type  so  common 
in  England ;  sturdy,  and  yet  not  coarse ;  middle- 
sized,  deep-chested,  broad-shouldered ;  with  small, 
well-knit  hands  and  feet,  large  jaw,  bright  gray 
eyes,  crisp  brown  hair,  a  heavy  projecting  brow; 
his  face  full  of  shrewdness  and  good-nature,  and 
of  humor  withal,  which  might  be  at  whiles  a 
little  saucy  and  sarcastic,  to  judge  from  the 
glances  which  he  sent  forth  from  the  corners  of 
his  wicked  eyes  at  his  companion  on  the  other 
side  of  the  window.  He  was  evidently  prepared 
for  a  day's  shooting,  in  velveteen  jacket  and 
leather  gaiters,  and  stood  feeling  about  in  his 
pockets  to  see  whether  he  had  forgotten  any  of 
his  tackle,  and  muttering  to  himself  amid  his 
whistling,  — "  Capital  day.  How  the  birds  will 
lie !  Where  on  earth  is  old  Mark?  Why  must  he 
wait  to  smoke  his  cigar  after  breakfast?  Could  n't 
he  have  had  it  in  the  trap,  the  blessed  old  chim- 
ney that  he  is  ?  " 

The  other  lad  was  somewhat  taller  than  Tom, 
awkwardly  and  plainly  dressed,  but  with  a  highly 


Poetry  and  Prose  33 

developed  Byronic  turn-down  collar,  and  long 
black  curling  locks.  He  was  certainly  handsome, 
as  far  as  the  form  of  his  features  and  brow ;  and 
would  have  been  very  handsome,  but  for  the  bad 
complexion  which  at  his  age  so  often  accompanies 
a  sedentary  life  and  a  melancholic  temper.  One 
glance  at  his  face  was  sufficient  to  tell  that  he  was 
moody,  shy,  restless,  perhaps  discontented,  perhaps 
ambitious  and  vain.  He  held  in  his  hand  a  volume 
of  Percy's  "  Reliques,"  which  he  had  just  taken 
down  from  Thurnall's  shelves ;  yet  he  was  looking 
not  at  it,  but  at  the  landscape.  Nevertheless,  as  he 
looked,  one  might  have  seen  that  he  was  thinking 
not  so  much  of  it  as  of  his  own  thoughts  about  it. 
His  eye,  which  was  very  large,  dark,  and  beautiful, 
with  heavy  lids  and  long  lashes,  had  that  dreamy 
look  so  common  among  men  of  the  poetic  tempera- 
ment ;  conscious  of  thought,  if  not  conscious  of  self ; 
and  as  his  face  kindled,  and  his  lips  moved  more  and 
more  earnestly,  he  began  muttering  to  himself  half- 
'  aloud,  till  Tom  Thurnall  burst  into  an  open  laugh. 

"  There  's  Jack  at  it  again  !  making  poetry,  I  '11 
bet  my  head  to  a  China  orange." 

"And  why  not?"  said  his  father,  looking  up 
quietly,  but  reprovingly,  as  Jack  winced  and 
blushed  and  a  dark  shade  of  impatience  passed 
across  his  face. 

"  Oh !  it 's  no  concern  of  mine.  Let  every- 
body please  themselves.  The  country  looks  very 
pretty,  no  doubt,  I  can  tell  that;  only  my 
notion  is,  that  a  wise  man  ought  to  go  out  and 
enjoy  it  —  as  I  am  going  to  do  —  with  a  gun  on  his 
shoulder,  instead  of  poking  at  home  like  a  yard- 
dog,  and  behowling  oneself  in  po-o-oetry;  "  and 
Tom  lifted  up  his  voice  into  a  doleful  mastiffs  howl. 


34  Two  Years  Ago 

"  Then  be  as  good  as  your  word,  Tom,  and  let 
every  one  please  themselves,"  said  the  doctor; 
but  the  dark  youth  broke  out  in  sudden  passion. 

"  Mr.  Thomas  Thurnall !  I  will  not  endure  this ! 
Why  are  you  always  making  me  your  butt, — 
insulting  me,  sir,  even  in  your  father's  house? 
You  do  not  understand  me;  and  I  do  not  care 
to  understand  you.  If  my  presence  is  disagreeable 
to  you,  I  can  easily  relieve  you  of  it !  "  and  the 
dark  youth  turned  to  go  away,  like  Naaman,  in 
a  rage. 

"Stop,  John,"  said  the  doctor.  "I  think  it 
would  be  the  more  courteous  plan  for  Tom  to 
relieve  you  of  his  presence.  Go  and  find  Mark, 
Tom;  and  please  to  remember  that  John  Briggs 
is  my  guest,  and  that  I  will  not  allow  any  rudeness 
to  him  in  my  house." 

"  I  '11  go,  daddy,  to  the  world's  end,  if  you  like, 
provided  you  won't  ask  me  to  write  poetry.  But 
Jack  takes  offence  so  soon.  Give  us  your  hand, 
old  tinder-box !  I  meant  no  harm,  and  you  know 
it." 

John  Briggs  took  the  proffered  hand  sulkily 
enough;  and  Tom  went  out  of  the  glass  door, 
whistling  as  merry  as  a  cricket 

"  My  dear  boy,"  said  the  doctor,  when  they 
were  alone,  "  you  must  try  to  curb  this  temper 
of  yours.  Don't  be  angry  with  me,  but " 

"  I  should  be  an  ungrateful  brute  if  I  was,  sir. 
I  can  bear  anything  from  you.  I  ought  to,  for  I 
owe  everything  to  you ;  but " 

"  But,  my  dear  boy  —  '  better  is  he  that  ruleth 
his  spirit,  than  he  that  taketh  a  city.'  " 

John  Briggs  tapped  his  foot  on  the  ground 
impatiently.  "  I  cannot  help  it,  sir.  It  will  drive 


Poetry  and  Prose  35 

me  mad,  I  think,  at  times,  —  this  contrast  between 
what  I  might  be,  and  what  I  am.  I  can  bear  it  no 
longer  —  mixing  medicines  here,  when  I  might  be 
educating  myself,  distinguishing  myself —  for  I 
can  do  it ;  have  you  not  said  as  much  yourself  to 
me  again  and  again?  " 

"  I  have,  of  course ;  but " 

"But,  sir,  only  hear  me.  It  is  in  vain  to  ask 
me  to  command  my  temper  while  I  stay  here.  I 
am  not  fit  for  this  work ;  not  fit  for  the  dull  country. 
I  am  not  appreciated,  not  understood ;  and  I  shall 
never  be,  till  I  can  get  to  London,  —  till  I  can  find 
congenial  spirits,  and  take  my  rightful  place  in  the 
great  parliament  of  mind.  I  am  Pegasus  in  har- 
ness, here !  "  cried  the  vain,  discontented  youth. 
"  Let  me  but  once  get  there,  amid  art,  civilization, 
intellect,  and  the  company  of  men  like  that  old 
Mermaid  Club,  to  hear  and  to  answer 

"  '  words, 

So  nimble,  and  so  full  of  subtle  flame, 
As  one  had  put  his  whole  soul  in  a  jest; ' 

and  then  you  shall  see  whether  Pegasus  has  not 
wings,  and  can  use  them  too  !  "  And  he  stopped 
suddenly,  choking  with  emotion,  his  nostril  and 
chest  dilating,  his  foot  stamping  impatiently  on  the 
ground. 

The  doctor  watched  him  with  a  sad  smile. 

"Do  you  remember  the  devil's  temptation  of 
our  Lord  —  *  Cast  thyself  down  from  hence ;  for 
it  is  written,  He  shall  give  his  angels  charge  over 
thee'?" 

"  I  do ;  but  what  has  that  to  do  with  me  ?  " 

"  Throw  away  the  safe  station  in  which  God  has 
certainly  put  you,  to  seek,  by  some  desperate 


36  Two  Years  Ago 

venture,  a  new,  and,  as  you  fancy,  a  grander  one 
for  yourself  ?  Look  out  of  that  window,  lad ;  is 
there  not  poetry  enough,  beauty  and  glory  enough, 
in  that  sky,  those  fields,  —  ay,  in  every  fallen 
leaf,  —  to  employ  all  your  powers,  considerable  as 
I  believe  them  to  be?  Why  spurn  the  pure,  quiet 
country  life,  in  which  such  men  as  Wordsworth 
have  been  content  to  live  and  grow  old  ?  " 

The  boy  shook  his  head  like  an  impatient  horse. 
"  Too  slow  —  too  slow  for  me,  to  wait  and  wait,  as 
Wordsworth  did,  through  long  years  of  obscurity, 
misconception,  ridicule.  No.  What  I  have,  I 
must  have  at  once ;  and,  if  it  must  be,  die  like 
Chatterton  —  if  only,  like  Chatterton,  I  can  have 
my  little  day  of  success,  and  make  the  world  con- 
fess that  another  priest  of  the  beautiful  has  arisen 
among  men." 

Now,  it  can  scarcely  be  denied  that  the  good 
doctor  was  guilty  of  a  certain  amount  of  weakness 
in  listening  patiently  to  all  this  rant.  Not  that 
the  rant  was  very  blamable  in  a  lad  of  eighteen ; 
for  have  we  not  all,  while  we  are  going  through 
our  course  of  Shelley,  talked  very  much  the  same 
abominable  stuff,  and  thought  ourselves  the 
grandest  fellows  upon  earth  on  account  of  that 
very  length  of  ear  which  was  patent  to  all  the 
world  save  our  precious  selves;  blinded  by  our 
self-conceit,  and  wondering  in  wrath  why  every- 
body was  laughing  at  us  ?  But  the  truth  is,  the 
doctor  was  easy  and  indulgent  to  a  fault,  and 
dreaded  nothing  so  much,  save  telling  a  lie,  as 
hurting  people's  feelings ;  beside,  as  the  acknow- 
ledged wise  man  of  Whitbury,  he  was  a  little 
proud  of  playing  the  Maecenas ;  and  he  had,  and 
not  unjustly,  a  high  opinion  of  John  Briggs' 


Poetry  and  Prose  37 

powers.  So  he  had  lent  him  books,  corrected  his 
taste  in  many  matters,  and,  by  dint  of  petting 
and  humoring,  had  kept  the  wayward  youth  half- 
a-dozen  times  from  running  away  from  his  father, 
who  was  an  apothecary  in  the  town,  and  from  the 
general  practitioner,  Mr.  Bolus,  under  whom  John 
Briggs  fulfilled  the  office  of  co-assistant  with  Tom 
Thurnall.  Plenty  of  trouble  had  both  the  lads 
given  the  doctor  in  the  last  five  years,  but  of  very 
different  kinds.  Tom,  though  he  was  in  everlasting 
hot  water,  as  the  most  incorrigible  scapegrace  for 
ten  miles  round,  contrived  to  confine  his  naughti- 
ness strictly  to  play-hours,  while  he  learnt  every- 
thing which  was  to  be  learnt  with  marvellous 
quickness,  and  so  utterly  fulfilled  the  ideal  of  a 
bottle-boy  (for  of  him,  too,  as  of  all  things,  I 
presume,  an  ideal  exists  eternally  in  the  supra- 
sensual  Platonic  universe),  that  Bolus  told  his 
father,  "  In  hours,  sir,  he  takes  care  of  my  business 
as  well  as  I  could  myself;  but  out  of  hours,  sir, 
I  believe  he  is  possessed  by  seven  devils." 

John  Briggs,  on  the  other  hand,  sinned  in  the 
very  opposite  direction.  Too  proud  to  learn  his 
business,  and  too  proud  also  to  play  the  scape- 
grace as  Tom  did,  he  neglected  alike  work  and 
amusement  for  lazy  mooning  over  books,  and 
the  dreams  which  books  called  up.  He  made 
perpetual  mistakes  in  the  shop;  and  then  con- 
sidered himself  insulted  by  an  "  inferior  spirit,"  if 
poor  Bolus  called  him  to  account  for  it.  Indeed, 
had  it  not  been  for  many  applications  of  that 
"  precious  oil  of  unity,"  with  which  the  good  doctor 
daily  anointed  the  creaking  wheels  of  Whitbury 
society,  John  Briggs  and  his  master  would  have 
long  ago  "  broken  out  of  gear,"  and  parted  com- 


38  Two  Years  Ago 

pany  in  mutual  wrath  and  fury.  And  now,  indeed, 
the  critical  moment  seemed  come  at  last ;  for  the 
lad  began  afresh  to  declare  his  deliberate  intention 
of  going  to  London  to  seek  his  fortune,  in  spite  of 
parents  and  all  the  world. 

"To  live  on  here,  and  never  to  rise,  perhaps, 
above  the  post  of  correspondent  to  a  country 
newspaper!  To  publish  a  volume  of  poems  by 
subscription  and  have  to  go  round,  hat  in  hand, 
begging  five  shillings'  worth  of  patronage  from 
every  stupid  country  squire  —  intolerable !  I  must 
go  !  Shakespeare  was  never  Shakespeare  till  he 
fled  from  miserable  Stratford,  to  become  at  once 
the  friend  of  Sidney  and  Southampton." 

"  But  John  Briggs  will  be  John  Briggs  still,  if  he 
went  to  the  moon,"  shouted  Tom  Thurnall,  who 
had  just  come  up  to  the  window.  "  I  advise  you 
to  change  that  name  of  yours,  Jack,  to  Sidney,  or 
Percy,  or  Walker  if  you  like;  anything  but  the 
illustrious  surname  of  Briggs  the  poisoner !  " 

"What  do  you  mean,  sir?"  thundered  John, 
while  the  doctor  himself  jumped  up ;  for  Tom  was 
red  with  rage. 

"What  is  this,  Tom?" 

"What's  that?"  screamed  Tom,  bursting,  in 
spite  of  his  passion,  into  roars  of  laughter.  "  What 's 
that?"  —  and  he  held  out  a  phial.  "Smell  itl 
taste  it !  Oh,  if  I  had  but  a  gallon  of  it  to  pour 
down  your  throat!  That's  what  you  brought 
Mark  Armsworth  last  night,  instead  of  his  cough 
mixture,  while  your  brains  were  wool-gathering 
after  poetry !  " 

"What  is  it?"  gasped  John  Briggs. 

"  Miss  Twiddle's  black  dose ;  —  strong  enough 
to  rive  the  gizzard  out  of  an  old  cock  1  " 


Poetry  and  Prose  39 

"It 'snot!" 

"  It  is !  "  roared  Mark  Armsworth  from  behind, 
as  he  rushed  in,  in  shooting-jacket  and  gaiters, 
his  red  face  redder  with  fury,  his  red  whiskers 
standing  on  end  with  wrath  like  a  tiger's,  his  left 
hand  upon  his  hapless  hypogastric  region,  his  right 
brandishing  an  empty  glass,  which  smelt  strongly  of 
brandy  and  water.  "  It  is  !  And  you  've  given 
me  the  cholera,  and  spoilt  my  day's  shooting: 
and  if  I  don't  serve  you  out  for  it,  there  's  no  law 
in  England !  " 

"  And  spoilt  my  day's  shooting,  too ;  the  last  I 
shall  get  before  I  'm  off  to  Paris  !  To  have  a  day 
in  Lord  Minchampstead's  preserves,  and  to  be 
balked  of  it  in  this  way !  " 

John  Briggs  stood  as  one  astonied. 

"  If  I  don't  serve  you  out  for  this  !  "  shouted  Mark. 

"  If  I  don't  serve  you  out  for  it !  You  shall 
never  hear  the  last  of  it !  "  shouted  Tom.  "  I  '11 
take  to  writing  after  all.  I  '11  put  it  in  the  papers. 
I'll  make  the  name  of  Briggs  the  poisoner  an 
abomination  in  the  land." 

John  Briggs  turned  and  fled. 

"  Well !  "  said  Mark,  "  I  must  spend  my  morning 
at  home,  I  suppose.  So  I  shall  just  sit  and  chat 
with  you,  doctor." 

"And  I  shall  go  and  play  with  Molly,"  said 
Tom,  and  walked  off  to  Armsworth's  garden. 

"  I  don't  care  for  myself  so  much,"  said  Mark ; 
"  but  I  'm  sorry  the  boy's  lost  his  last  day's  shooting." 

"  Oh,  you  will  be  well  enough  by  noon,  and  can 
go  then ;  and  as  for  the  boy,  it  is  just  as  well  for 
him  not  to  grow  too  fond  of  sports  in  which  he 
can  never  indulge." 

"Never   indulge?     Why  not?     He   vows   he'll 


40  Two  Years  Ago 

go  to  the  Rocky  Mountains,  and  shoot  a  grizzly 
bear;  and  he'll  do  it" 

"  He  has  a  great  deal  to  do  before  that,  poor 
fellow;  and  a  great  deal  to  learn." 

"  And  he  '11  learn  it.  You  're  always  down- 
hearted about  the  boy,  doctor." 

"  I  can't  help  feeling  the  parting  with  him ;  and 
for  Paris,  too  —  such  a  seat  of  temptation.  But 
it  is  his  own  choice;  and,  after  all,  he  must  see 
temptation  wherever  he  goes." 

"  Bless  the  man !  if  a  boy  means  to  go  to  the 
bad,  he  '11  go  just  as  easily  in  Whitbury  as  in  Paris. 
Give  the  lad  his  head,  and  never  fear;  he'll  fall 
on  his  legs  like  a  cat,  I  '11  warrant  him,  whatever 
happens.  He  's  as  steady  as  old  Time,  I  tell  you ; 
there 's  a  gray  head  on  green  shoulders  there." 

"Steady?"  said  the  doctor,  with  a  smile  and  a 
shrug. 

"  Steady,  I  tell  you,  at  heart ;  as  prudent  as  you 
or  I;  and  never  lost  you  a  farthing,  that  you 
know.  Hang  good  boys !  give  me  one  who 
knows  how  to  be  naughty  in  the  right  place;  I 
would  n't  give  sixpence  for  a  good  boy :  I  never  was 
one  myself,  and  have  no  faith  in  them.  Give  me 
the  lad  who  has  more  steam  up  than  he  knows  what 
to  do  with,  and  must  needs  blow  off  a  little  in  larks. 
When  once  he  settles  down  on  the  rail,  it  '11  send 
him  along  as  steady  as  a  luggage-train.  Did  you 
never  hear  a  locomotive  puffing  and  roaring  before 
it  gets  under  way?  well,  that's  what  your  boy  is 
doing.  Look  at  him  now,  with  my  poor  little  Molly." 

Tom  was  cantering  about  the  garden  with  a 
little  weakly  child  of  eight  in  his  arms.  The  little 
thing  was  looking  up  in  his  face  with  delight, 
screaming  at  his  jokes. 


Poetry  and  Prose  41 

"You  are  right,  Mark;  the  boy's  heart  cannot 
be  in  the  wrong  place  while  he  is  so  fond  of  little 
children." 

"  Poor  Molly !  How  she  '11  miss  him  !  Do  you 
think  she  '11  ever  walk,  doctor?" 

"  I  do  indeed." 

"Hum!  ah!  well!  if  she  grows  up,  doctor, and 
don't  go  to  join  her  poor  dear  mother  up  there,  I 
don't  know  that  I  'd  wish  her  a  better  husband 
than  your  boy." 

"  It  would  be  a  poor  enough  match  for  her." 

"  Tut !  she  '11  have  the  money,  and  he  the  brains. 
Mark  my  words,  doctor,  that  boy  '11  be  a  credit  to 
you ;  he  '11  make  a  noise  in  the  world,  or  I  know 
nothing.  And  if  his  fancy  holds  seven  years 
hence,  and  he  wants  still  to  turn  traveller,  let  him. 
If  he  's  minded  to  go  round  the  world,  I  '11  back 
him  to  go,  somehow  or  other,  or  I  '11  eat  my  head, 
Ned  Thurnall !  " 

The  doctor  acquiesced  in  this  hopeful  theory, 
partly  to  save  an  argument ;  for  Mark's  reverence 
for  his  opinion  was  confined  to  scientific  matters; 
and  he  made  up  to  his  own  self-respect  by  patroniz- 
ing the  doctor,  and,  indeed,  taking  him  sometimes 
pretty  sharply  to  task  on  practical  matters. 

"  Best  fellow  alive  is  Thurnall ;  but  not  a  man 
of  business,  poor  fellow.  None  of  your  geniuses 
are.  Don't  know  what  he  'd  do  without  me." 

So  Tom  carried  Mary  about  all  the  morning,  and 
went  to  Minchampstead  in  the  afternoon,  and  got 
three  hours'  good  shooting;  but  in  the  evening  he 
vanished ;  and  his  father  went  into  Armsworth's 
to  look  for  him. 

"  Why  do  you  want  to  know  where  he  is  ? " 
replied  Mark,  looking  sly.  "  However,  as  you  can't 


42  Two  Years  Ago 

stop  him  now,  I  '11  tell  you.  He  is  just  about  this 
time  sewing  up  Briggs'  coat-sleeves,  putting  cop- 
peras into  his  water-jug  and  powdered  galls  on  his 
towel,  and  making  various  other  little  returns  for 
this  morning's  favor." 

"  I  dislike  practical  jokes." 

"  So  do  I ;  especially  when  they  come  in  the 
form  of  a  black  dose.  Sit  down,  old  boy,  and 
we  '11  have  a  game  at  cribbage." 

In  a  few  minutes  Tom  came  in.  "  Here 's  a  good 
riddance.  The  poisoner  has  fabricated  his  pil- 
grim's staff,  to  speak  scientifically,  and  perambu- 
lated his  calcareous  strata." 

"What!" 

"  Cut  his  stick,  and  walked  his  chalks ;  and  is 
off  to  London." 

"  Poor  boy,"  said  the  doctor,  much  distressed. 

"  Don't  cry,  daddy ;  you  can't  bring  him  back 
again.  He 's  been  gone  these  four  hours.  I  went 
to  his  room  at  Bolus's  about  a  little  business,  and 
saw  at  once  that  he  had  packed  up,  and  carried 
off  all  he  could.  And,  looking  about,  I  found  a 
letter  directed  to  his  father.  So  to  his  father  I 
took  it ;  and  really  I  was  sorry  for  the  poor  people. 
I  left  them  all  crying  in  chorus." 

"  I  must  go  to  them  at  once ;  "  and  up  rose  the 
doctor. 

"  He 's  not  worth  the  trouble  you  take  for  him 
—  the  addle-headed,  ill-tempered  coxcomb,"  said 
Mark.  "But  it's  just  like  your  soft-heartedness. 
Tom,  sit  down,  and  finish  the  game  with  me." 

So  vanished  from  Whitbury,  with  all  his  aspira- 
tions, poor  John  Briggs;  and  save  an  occasional 
letter  to  his  parents,  telling  them  that  he  was  alive 
and  well,  no  one  heard  anything  of  him  for  many  a 


Poetry  and  Prose  43 

year.  The  doctor  tried  to  find  him  out  in  London, 
again  and  again  ;  but  without  success.  His  letters 
had  no  address  upon  them,  and  no  clue  to  his 
whereabouts  could  be  found. 

And  Tom  Thurnall  went  to  Paris,  and  became 
the  best  pistol-shot  and  billiard-player  in  the 
Quartier  Latin ;  and  then  went  to  St.  Mumpsimus' 
Hospital  in  London,  and  became  the  best  boxer 
therein,  and  captain  of  the  eight-oar,  besides  win- 
ning prizes  and  certificates  without  end,  and 
becoming  in  due  time  the  most  popular  house- 
surgeon  in  the  hospital:  but  nothing  could  keep 
him  permanently  at  home.  Stay  drudging  in 
London  he  would  not.  Settle  down  in  a  country 
practice  he  would  not.  Cost  his  father  a  farthing 
he  would  not.  So  he  started  forth  into  the  wide 
world  with  nothing  but  his  wits  and  his  science,  as 
anatomical  professor  to  a  new  college  in  some 
South  American  republic.  Unfortunately,  when 
he  got  there,  he  found  that  the  annual  revolution 
had  just  taken  place,  and  that  the  party  who  had 
founded  the  college  had  been  all  shot  the  week 
before.  Whereat  he  whistled,  and  started  off 
again,  no  man  knew  whither. 

"  Having  got  round  half  the  world,  daddy,"  he 
wrote  home,  "  it 's  hard  if  I  don't  get  round  the 
other  half.  So  don't  expect  me  till  you  see  me ; 
and  take  care  of  your  dear  old  eyes." 

With  which  he  vanished  into  infinite  space,  and 
was  only  heard  of  by  occasional  letters  dated  from 
the  Rocky  Mountains  (where  he  did  shoot  a  grizzly 
bear),  the  Spanish  West  Indies,  Otaheite,  Singa- 
pore, the  Falkland  Islands,  and  all  manner  of  un- 
expected places;  sending  home  valuable  notes 
(sometimes  accompanied  by  valuable  specimens), 
Vol.  10— C 


44  Two  Years  Ago 

zoological  and  botanical ;  and  informing  his  father 
that  he  was  doing  very  well ;  that  work  was  plenti- 
ful, and  that  he  always  found  two  fresh  jobs  before 
he  had  finished  one  old  one. 

His  eldest  brother,  John,  died  meanwhile.  His 
second  brother,  William,  was  in  good  general 
practice  in  Manchester.  His  father's  connections 
supported  him  comfortably;  and  if  the  old  doctor 
'ever  longed  for  Tom  to  come  home,  he  never 
hinted  it  to  the  wanderer,  but  bade  him  go  on 
and  prosper,  and  become  (which  he  gave  high 
promise  of  becoming)  a  distinguished  man  of 
science.  Nevertheless  the  old  man's  heart  sunk 
at  last,  when  month  after  month,  and  at  last  two 
full  years,  had  passed  without  any  letter  from 
Tom. 

At  last,  when  full  four  years  were  past  and 
gone  since  Tom  started  for  South  America,  he  de- 
scended from  the  box  of  the  day-mail,  with  a 
serene  and  healthful  countenance;  and  with  no 
more  look  of  interest  in  his  face  than  if  he  had 
been  away  on  a  two  days'  visit,  shouldered 
his  carpet-bag,  and  started  for  his  father's  house. 
He  stopped,  however,  as  there  appeared  from  the 
inside  of  the  mail  a  face  which  he  must  surely 
know.  A  second  look  told  him  that  it  was  none 
other  than  John  Briggs.  But  how  altered !  He 
had  grown  up  into  a  very  handsome  man  —  tall 
and  delicate-featured,  with  long  black  curls,  and  a 
black  moustache.  There  was  a  slight  stoop  about 
his  shoulders,  as  of  a  man  accustomed  to  too  much 
sitting  and  writing;  and  he  carried  an  eye-glass, 
whether  for  fashion's  sake,  or  for  his  eyes'  sake, 
was  uncertain.  He  was  wrapt  in  a  long  Spanish 
cloak,  new  and  good ;  wore  well-cut  trousers,  and 


Poetry  and  Prose  45 

(what  Tom,  of  course,  examined  carefully)  French 
boots,  very  neat,  and  very  thin.  Moreover,  he 
had  lavender  kid-gloves  on.  Tom  looked  and 
wondered,  and  walked  half  round  him,  sniffing 
like  a  dog  when  he  examines  into  the  character 
of  a  fellow-dog. 

"  Hum  !  his  mark  seems  to  be  at  present  P.  P.  — 
prosperous  party :  so  there  can  be  no  harm  in  re- 
newing our  acquaintance.  What  trade  on  earth 
does  he  live  by,  though?  Editor  of  a  newspaper? 
or  keeper  of  a  gambling-table  ?  Begging  his  par- 
don, he  looks  a  good  deal  more  like  the  latter  than 
the  former.  However " 

And  he  walked  up  and  offered  his  hand,  with 
"  How  d'e  do,  Briggs?  Who  would  have  thought 
of  our  falling  from  the  skies  against  each  other  in 
this  fashion?" 

Mr.  Briggs  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  took 
coldly  the  offered  hand. 

"  Excuse  me ,'  but  the  circumstances  of  my 
visit  here  are  too  painful  to  allow  me  to  wish  for 
society." 

And  Mr.  Briggs  withdrew,  evidently  glad  to 
escape. 

"  Has  he  vampoosed  with  the  contents  of  a  till, 
that  he  wishes  so  for  solitude  ?  "  asked  Tom ;  and, 
shouldering  his  carpet-bag  a  second  time,  with  a 
grim  inward  laugh,  he  went  to  his  father's  house, 
and  hung  up  his  hat  in  the  hall,  just  as  if  he  had 
come  in  from  a  walk,  and  walked  into  the  study ; 
and  not  finding  the  old  man,  stepped  through  the 
garden  to  Mark  Armsworth's,  and  in  at  the  drawing- 
room  window,  frightening  out  of  her  wits  a  short, 
pale,  ugly  girl  of  seventeen,  whom  he  discovered 
to  be  his  old  play-fellow,  Mary.  However,  she 


46  Two  Years  Ago 

soon  recovered  her  equanimity :  he  certainly  never 
lost  his. 

"How  d'e  do,  darling?  How  you  are  grown! 
and  how  well  you  look !  How 's  your  father  ?  I 
had  n't  anything  particular  to  do,  so  I  thought  I  'd 
come  home  and  see  you  all,  and  get  some  fishing." 

And  Mary,  who  had  longed  to  throw  her  arms 
round  his  neck,  as  of  old,  and  was  restrained  by 
the  thought  that  she  was  grown  a  great  girl  now, 
called  in  her  father  and  all  the  household;  and 
after  a  while  the  old  doctor  came  home,  and  the 
fatted  calf  was  killed,  and  all  made  merry  over  the 
return  of  this  altogether  unrepentant  prodigal  son, 
who,  whether  from  affectation,  or  from  that  blunted 
sensibility  which  often  comes  by  continual  change 
and  wandering,  took  all  their  affection  and  delight 
with  the  most  provoking  coolness. 

Nevertheless,  though  his  feelings  were  not  "  de- 
monstrative," as  fine  ladies  say  nowadays,  he  evi- 
dently had  some  left  in  some  corner  of  his  heart ; 
for  after  the  fatted  calf  was  eaten,  and  they  were 
all  settled  in  the  doctor's  study,  it  came  out  that 
his  carpet-bag  contained  little  but  presents,  and 
those  valuable  ones  —  rare  minerals  from  the  Ural 
for  his  father;  a  pair  of  Circassian  pistols  for 
Mark ;  and  for  little  Mary,  to  her  astonishment,  a 
Russian  malachite  bracelet,  at  which  Mary's  eyes 
opened  wide,  and  old  Mark  said: 

"  Pretty  fellow  you  are,  to  go  fooling  your 
money  away  like  that.  What  did  that  gimcrack 
cost,  pray,  sir?  " 

"  That  is  no  concern  of  yours,  sir,  or  mine 
either ;  for  I  did  n't  pay  for  it.  " 

"  Oh  ! "  said  Mary,  doubtingly. 

"  No,  Mary.    I  killed  a  giant,  who  was  carrying 


Poetry  and  Prose  47 

off  a  beautiful  princess ;  and  this,  you  see,  he  wore 
as  a  ring  on  one  of  his  fingers :  so  I  thought  it 
would  just  suit  your  wrist." 

"  Oh,  Tom  —  Mr.  Thurnall  —  what  nonsense !  " 

"  Come,  come,"  said  his  father ;  "  instead  of 
telling  us  these  sort  of  stories,  you  ought  to  give 
an  account  of  yourself,  as  you  seem  quite  to  forget 
that  we  have  not  heard  from  you  for  more  than 
two  years." 

"  Whew !  I  wrote,"  said  Tom,  "  whenever  I 
could.  However,  you  can  have  all  my  letters  in 
one  now." 

So  they  sat  round  the  fire,  and  Tom  gave  an 
account  of  himself;  while  his  father  marked  with 
pride  that  the  young  man  had  grown  and  strength- 
ened in  body  and  in  mind ;  and  that  under  that 
nonchalant,  almost  cynical  outside,  the  heart  still 
beat  honest  and  kindly.  For  before  Tom  began, 
he  would  needs  draw  his  chair  closer  to  his  father's, 
and  half-whispered  to  him : 

"This  is  very  jolly.  I  can't  be  sentimental, 
yon  know.  Knocking  about  the  world  has  beat 
all  that  out  of  me :  but  it  is  very  comfortable, 
after  all,  to  find  oneself  with  a  dear  old  daddy,  and 
a  good  coal  fire." 

"  Which  of  the  two  could  you  best  do 
without?  " 

"  Well,  one  takes  things  as  one  finds  them.  It 
don't  do  to  look  too  deeply  into  one's  feelings. 
Like  chemicals,  the  more  you  analyze  them,  the 
worse  they  smell." 

So  Tom  began  his  story. 

"  You  heard  from  me  at  Bombay ;  after  I  'd 
been  up  to  the  Himalaya  with  an  old  Mumpsimus 
friend?" 


48  Two  Years  Ago 

"Yes." 

"  Well,  I  worked  my  way  to  Suez  on  board  a 
ship  whose  doctor  had  fallen  ill ;  and  then  I  must 
needs  see  a  little  of  Egypt ;  and  there  robbed  was 
I,  and  nearly  murdered  too;  but  I  take  a  good 
deal  of  killing." 

"  I  '11  warrant  you  do,"  said  Mark,  looking  at 
him  with  pride. 

"So  I  begged  my  way  to  Cairo;  and  there  I 
picked  up  a  Yankee — a  New  Yorker,  made  of 
money,  who  had  a  yacht  at  Alexandria,  and  trav- 
elled en  prince  ;  and  nothing  would  serve  him  but 
I  must  go  with  him  to  Constantinople ;  but  there 
he  and  I  quarrelled  —  more  fools,  both  of  us  !  I 
wrote  to  you  from  Constantinople." 

"  We  never  got  the  letter." 

"  I  can't  help  that ;  I  wrote.  But  there  I  was 
on  the  wide  world  again.  So  I  took  up  with  a 
Russian  prince,  whom  I  met  at  a  gambling-table 
in  Pera,  —  a  mere  boy,  but  such  a  plucky  one,  — 
and  went  with  him  to  Circassia,  and  up  to  Astra- 
khan, and  on  to  the  Kirghis  steppes ;  and  there  I 
did  see  snakes." 

"  Snakes  ?"  says  Mary.  "  I  should  have  thought 
you  had  seen  plenty  in  India  already." 

"Yes,  Mary!  but  these  were  snakes  spiritual 
and  metaphorical.  For,  poking  about  where  we 
had  no  business,  Mary,  the  Tartars  caught  us,  and 
tied  us  to  their  horses'  tails,  after  giving  me  this 
scar  across  the  cheek,  and  taught  us  to  drink 
mares'  milk,  and  to  do  a  good  deal  of  dirty  work 
beside.  So  there  we  stayed  with  them  six  months, 
and  observed  their  manners,  which  were  none, 
and  their  customs,  which  were  disgusting,  as  the 
midshipman  said  in  his  diary ;  and  had  the  honor 


Poetry  and  Prose  49 

of  visiting  a  pleasant  little  place  in  Nomansland, 
called  Khiva,  which  you  may  find  in  your  atlas, 
Mary;  and  of  very  nearly  being  sold  for  slaves 
into  Persia,  which  would  not  have  been  pleasant; 
and  at  last,  Mary,  we  ran  away  —  or  rather,  rode 
away,  on  two  razor-backed  Calmuck  ponies,  and 
got  back  to  Russia,  vid  Orenberg,  —  for  which 
consult  your  atlas  again ;  so  the  young  prince  was 
restored  to  the  bosom  of  his  afflicted  family ;  and 
a  good  deal  of  trouble  I  had  to  get  him  safe  there, 
for  the  poor  boy's  health  gave  way.  They  wanted 
me  to  stay  with  them,  and  offered  to  make  my 
fortune." 

"  I  'm  so  glad  you  did  n't,"  said  Mary. 

"  Well  —  I  wanted  to  see  little  Mary  again,  and 
two  worthy  old  gentlemen  beside,  you  see.  How- 
ever, those  Russians  are  generous  enough.  They 
filled  my  pockets,  and  heaped  me  with  presents ; 
that  bracelet  among  them.  What's  more,  Mary, 
I've  been  introduced  to  old  Nick  himself,  and  can 
testify,  from  personal  experience,  to  the  correct- 
ness of  Shakespeare's  opinion  that  the  prince  of 
darkness  is  a  gentleman." 

"And  now  you  are  going  to  stay  at  home?" 
asked  the  doctor. 

"  Well,  if  you  '11  take  me  in,  daddy,  I  '11  send  for 
my  traps  from  London,  and  stay  a  month  or  so." 

"  A  month,"  cried  the  forlorn  father. 

"Well,  daddy,  you  see,  there  is  a  chance  of 
more  fighting  in  Mexico,  and  I  shall  see  such 
practice  there;  beside  meeting  old  friends  who 
were  with  me  in  Texas.  And  —  and  I  've  got  a 
little  commission,  too,  down  in  Georgia,  that  I 
should  like  to  go  and  do." 

"  What  is  that?  " 


50  Two  Years  Ago 

"  Well,  it 's  a  long  story  and  a  sad  one ;  but 
there  was  a  poor  Yankee  surgeon  with  the  army 
in  Circassia  —  a  Southerner,  and  a  very  good 
fellow ;  and  he  had  taken  a  fancy  to  some  colored 
girl  at  home  —  poor  fellow,  he  used  to  go  half 
mad  about  her  sometimes,  when  he  was  talking  to 
me,  for  fear  she  should  have  been  sold  —  sent  to 
the  New  Orleans  market,  or  some  other  devilry; 
and  what  could  I  say  to  comfort  him  ?  Well,  he 
got  his  mittimus  by  one  of  Schamyl's  bullets ;  and 
when  he  was  dying,  he  made  me  promise  (I  had  n't 
the  heart  to  refuse)  to  take  all  his  savings,  which 
he  had  been  hoarding  for  years  for  no  other  pur- 
pose, and  see  if  I  could  n't  buy  the  girl,  and  get 
her  away  to  Canada.  I  was  a  fool  for  promising. 
It  was  no  concern  of  mine ;  but  the  poor  fellow 
would  n't  die  in  peace  else.  So  what  must  be, 
must." 

"  Oh,  go  !  go  !  "  said  Mary.  "  You  will  let  him 
go,  Doctor  Thurnall,  and  see  the  poor  girl  free? 
Think  how  dreadful  it  must  be  to  be  a  slave." 

"  I  will,  my  little  Miss  Mary ;  and  for  more 
reasons  than  you  think  of.  Little  do  you  know 
how  dreadful  it  is  to  be  a  slave." 

"  Hum  !  "  said  Mark  Armsworth.  "  That 's  a 
queer  story.  Tom,  have  you  got  the  poor  fellow's 
money  ?  Did  n't  lose  it  when  you  were  taken  by 
those  Tartars?" 

"  Not  I.  I  was  n't  so  green  as  to  carry  it  with 
me.  It  ought  to  have  been  in  England  six  months 
ago.  My  only  fear  is,  it 's  not  enough." 

"  Hum  !  "  said  Mark.  "  How  much  more  do 
you  think  you  '11  want?  " 

"  Heaven  knows.  There  is  a  thousand  dollars ; 
but  if  she  be  half  as  beautiful  as  poor  Wyse  used 


Poetry  and  Prose  51 

to  swear  she  was,  I  may  want  more  than  double 
that." 

"  If  you  do,  pay  it,  and  I  '11  pay  you  again.  No, 
by  George!"  said  Mark,  "no  one  shall  say  that 
while  Mark  Armsworth  had  a  balance  at  his 

bankers'  he  let  a  poor  girl "  and,  recollecting 

Mary's  presence,  he  finished  his  sentence  by  sun- 
dry stamps  and  thumps  on  the  table. 

"  You  would  soon  exhaust  your  balance,  if  you 
set  to  work  to  free  all  poor  girls  who  are  in  the 
same  case  in  Georgia,"  said  the  doctor. 

"Well,  what  of  that  ?  Them  I  don't  know  of, 
and  so  I  ain't  responsible  for  them;  but  this 
one  I  do  know  of,  and  so  —  there  I  can't  argue ; 
but,  Tom,  if  you  want  the  money,  you  know  where 
to  find  it." 

"Very  good.  By  the  by  —  I  forget  it  till  this 
moment  —  who  should  come  down  in  the  coach 
with  me  but  the  lost  John  Briggs." 

"  He  is  come  too  late,  then,"  said  the  doctor. 
"  His  poor  father  died  this  morning." 

"Ah!  then  Briggs  kn.w  that  he  was  ill?  That 
explains  the  Manfredic  mystery  and  gloom  with 
which  he  greeted  me." 

"  I  cannot  tell.  He  has  written  from  time  to 
time,  but  he  has  never  given  any  address ;  so  that 
no  one  could  write  in  return." 

"  He  may  have  known.  He  looked  very  down- 
cast. Perhaps  that  explains  his  cutting  me 
dead." 

"Cut  you?"  cried  Mark.  "I  dare  say  he's 
been  doing  something  he 's  ashamed  of,  and  don't 
want  to  be  recognized.  That  fellow  has  been  after 
no  good  all  this  while,  I  '11  warrant.  I  always  say 
he's  connected  with  the  swell  mob,  or  croupier 


52  Two  Years  Ago 

at  a  gambling- table,  or  something  of  that  kind. 
Don't  you  think  it's  likely,  now?" 

Mark  was  in  the  habit  of  so  saying  for  the  pur- 
pose of  tormenting  the  doctor,  who  held  stoutly 
to  his  old  belief,  that  John  Briggs  was  a  very  clever 
man,  and  would  turn  up  some  day  as  a  distin- 
guished literary  character. 

"  Well,"  said  Tom, "  honest  or  not,  he 's  thriving, 
came  down  inside  the  coach,  dressed  in  the  dis- 
tinguished foreigner  style,  with  lavender  kid-gloves, 
and  French  boots." 

"  Just  like  a  swell  pickpocket,"  said  Mark.  "  I 
always  told  you  so,  Thurnall." 

"He  had  the  old  Byron  collar,  and  Raphael 
hair,  though." 

"  Nasty,  effeminate,  un-English  foppery,"  grum- 
bled Mark ;  "  so  he  may  be  in  the  scribbling  line 
after  all." 

"  I  '11  go  and  see  if  I  can  find  him,"  quoth  the 
doctor. 

"  Bother  you,"  said  Mark,  "  always  running 
out  o'  nights  after  somebody  else's  business, 
instead  of  having  a  jolly  evening.  You  stay, 
Tom,  like  a  sensible  fellow,  and  tell  me  and  Mary 
some  more  travellers'  lies.  Had  much  sporting, 
boy?" 

"  Hum !  I  Ve  shot  and  hunted  every  beast,  I 
think,  shootable  and  huntable,  from  a  humming- 
bird to  an  elephant ;  and  I  had  some  splendid  fish- 
ing in  Canada ;  but,  after  all,  give  me  a  Whitbury 
trout,  on  a  single-handed  Chevalier.  We  '11  at 
them  to-morrow,  Mr.  Armsworth." 

"  We  will,  my  boy !  never  so  many  fish  in  the 
river  as  this  year,  or  in  season  so  early." 

The  good  doctor  returned;   but  with  no  news 


Poetry  and  Prose  53 

which  could  throw  light  on  the  history  of  the  now 
mysterious  Mr.  John  Briggs.  He  had  locked  him- 
self into  the  room  with  his  father's  corpse,  evi- 
dently in  great  excitement  and  grief;  spent  several 
hours  in  walking  up  and  down  there  alone;  and 
had  then  gone  to  an  attorney  in  the  town,  and  set- 
tled everything  about  the  funeral  "  in  the  hand- 
somest way,"  said  the  man  of  law ;  "  and  was  quite 
the  gentleman  in  his  manner,  but  not  much  of  a 
man  of  business;  never  had  even  thought  of 
looking  for  his  father's  will ;  and  was  quite 
surprised  when  I  told  him  that  there  ought  to 
be  a  fair  sum  —  eight  hundred  or  a  thousand, 
perhaps  —  to  come  in  to  him,  if  the  stock  and 
business  were  properly  disposed  of.  So  he  went 
off  to  London  by  the  evening  mail,  and  told  me 
to  address  him  at  the  post-office  in  some  street  off 
the  Strand.  Queer  business,  sir,  is  n't  it?  " 

John  Briggs  did  not  reappear  till  a  few  minutes 
before  his  father's  funeral,  witnessed  the  ceremony 
evidently  with  great  sorrow,  bowed  off  silently  all 
who  attempted  to  speak  to  him,  and  returned  to 
London  by  the  next  coach,  leaving  matter  for  much 
babble  among  all  Whitbury  gossips.  One  thing 
at  least  was  plain,  that  he  wished  to  be  forgotten 
in  his  native  town ;  and  forgotten  he  was,  in  due 
course  of  time. 

Tom  Thurnall  stayed  his  month  at  home,  and 
then  went  to  America ;  whence  he  wrote  home,  in 
about  six  months,  a  letter,  of  which  only  one  para- 
graph need  interest  us. 

"  Tell  Mark  I  have  no  need  for  his  dollars.  I 
have  done  the  deed ;  and,  thanks  to  the  under- 
ground railway,  done  it  nearly  gratis;  which  was 
both  cheaper  than  buying  her,  and  infinitely  better 


54  Two  Years  Ago 

for  me ;  so  that  she  has  all  poor  Wyse's  dollars  to 
start  with  afresh  in  Canada.  I  write  this  from  New 
York.  I  could  accompany  her  no  farther ;  for  1 
must  get  back  to  the  South  in  time  for  the  Mexi- 
can expedition." 

Then  came  a  long  and  anxious  silence;  and 
then  a  letter,  not  from  Mexico,  but  from  Cali- 
fornia,—  one  out  of  several  which  had  been 
posted ;  and  then  letters  more  regularly  from  Aus- 
tralia. Sickened  with  Californian  life,  he  had 
crossed  the  Pacific  once  more,  and  was  hard  at 
work  in  the  diggings,  doctoring  and  gold-finding 
by  turns. 

"  A  rolling  stone  gathers  no  moss,"  said  his  father. 

"  He  has  the  pluck  of  a  hound,  and  the  cunning 
of  a  fox,"  said  Mark ;  "  and  he  '11  be  a  credit  to 
you  yet." 

And  Mary  prayed  every  morning  and  night  for 
her  old  playfellow;  and  so  the  years  slipped  on 
till  the  autumn  of  1853. 

As  no  one  has  heard  of  Tom  now  for  eight  months 
and  more  (the  pulse  of  Australian  postage  being 
of  a  somewhat  intermittent  type),  we  may  as  well 
go  and  look  for  him. 

A  sheet  of  dark  rolling  ground,  quarried  into  a 
gigantic  rabbit  burrow,  with  hundreds  of  tents  and 
huts  dotted  about  among  the  heaps  of  rubbish; 
dark  evergreen  forests  in  the  distance,  and,  above 
all,  the  great  volcanic  mountain  of  Buninyong  tow- 
ering far  aloft— these  are  the  "Black  Hills  of 
Ballarat ;  "  and  that  windlass  at  that  shaft's  mouth 
belongs  in  part  to  Thomas  Thurnall. 

At  the  windlass  are  standing  two  men,  whom  we 
may  have  seen  in  past  years,  self-satisfied  in  coun- 
tenance, and  spotless  in  array,  sauntering  down 


Poetry  and  Prose  55 

Piccadilly  any  July  afternoon,  or  lounging  in 
Haggis's  stable-yard  at  Cambridge  any  autumn 
morning.  Alas  !  how  changed  from  the  fast  young 
undergraduates,  with  powers  of  enjoyment  only 
equalled  by  their  powers  of  running  into  debt,  are 
those  two  black-bearded  and  mud-bespattered  ruf- 
fians, who  once  were  Smith  and  Brown  of  Trinity. 
Yet  who  need  pity  them,  as  long  as  they  have 
stouter  limbs,  healthier  stomachs,  and  clearer  con- 
sciences, than  they  have  had  since  they  left  Eton 
at  seventeen?  Would  Smith  have  been  a  happier 
man  as  a  briefless  barrister  in  a  dingy  Inn  of  Law, 
peeping  now  and  then  into  third  rate  London  soci- 
ety, and  scribbling  for  the  daily  press?  Would 
Brown  have  been  a  happier  man  had  he  been 
forced  into  those  holy  orders  for  which  he  never 
felt  the  least  vocation,  to  pay  off  his  college  debts 
out  of  his  curate's  income,  and  settle  down  on  his 
lees,  at  last,  in  the  family  living  of  Nomansland- 
cum-Clayhole,  and  support  a  wife  and  five  children 
on  five  hundred  a  year,  exclusive  of  rates  and 
taxes?  Let  them  dig,  and  be  men. 

The  windlass  rattles,  and  the  rope  goes  down. 
A  shout  from  the  bottom  of  the  shaft  proclaims  all 
right;  and  in  due  time,  sitting  in  the  noose  of  the 
rope,  up  comes  Thomas  Thurnall,  bare-footed  and 
bare-headed,  in  flannel  trousers  and  red  jersey,  be- 
grimed with  slush  and  mud  ;  with  a  mahogany  face, 
a  brick-red  neck,  and  a  huge  brown  beard,  looking, 
to  use  his  own  expression,  "  as  jolly  as  a  sandboy." 

"  A  letter  for  you,  doctor,  from  Europe." 

Tom  takes  it,  and  his  countenance  falls ;  for  it  is 
black-edged  and  black-sealed.  The  handwriting 
is  Mary  Armsworth's. 

"  I  suppose  the  old  lady  who  is  going  to  leave 


56  Two  Years  Ago 

me  a  fortune  is  dead,"  says  he,  drily,  and  turns 
away  to  read. 

"  Bad  luck,  I  suppose,"  he  says  to  himself.  "  I 
have  not  had  any  for  full  six  months,  so  I  suppose 
it  is  time  for  Dame  Fortune  to  give  me  a  sly  stab 
again.  I  only  hope  it  is  not  my  father;  for,  beg- 
ging the  dame's  pardon,  I  can  bear  any  trick  of 
hers  but  that."  And  he  sets  his  teeth  doggedly, 
and  reads. 

"  My  dear  Mr.  Thurnall  —  My  father  would 
have  written  himself,  but  he  thought,  I  don't  know 
why,  that  I  could  tell  you  better  than  he.  Your 
father  is  quite  well  in  health,"  —  Thurnall  breathes 
freely  again  —  "  but  he  has  had  heavy  trials  since 
your  poor  brother  William's  death." 

Tom  opens  his  eyes  and  sets  his  teeth  more 
firmly.  "  Willy  dead  ?  I  suppose  there  is  a  letter 
lost :  better  so ;  better  to  have  the  whole  list  of 
troubles  together,  and  so  get  them  sooner  over. 
Poor  Will !  " 

"  Your  father  caught  the  scarlet  fever  from  him, 
while  he  was  attending  him,  and  was  very  ill  after 
he  came  back.  He  is  quite  well  again  now;  but  if 
I  must  tell  you  the  truth,  the  disease  has  affected 
his  eyes.  You  know  how  weak  they  always  were, 
and  how  much  worse  they  have  grown  of  late  years ; 
and  the  doctors  are  afraid  that  he  has  little  chance 
of  recovering  the  sight,  at  least  of  the  left  eye." 

"  Recovering?  He  's  blind,  then."  And  Tom 
set  his  teeth  more  tightly  than  ever.  He  felt  a 
sob  rise  in  his  throat,  but  choked  it  down,  shaking 
his  head  like  an  impatient  bull. 

"  Wait  a  bit,  Tom,"  said  he  to  himself,  "  before 
you  have  it  out  with  Dame  Fortune.  There 's 
more  behind,  I'll  warrant.  News  like  this  lies  in 


Poetry  and  Prose  57 

pockets,   and    not   in  single   nuggets."     And  he 
read  on: 

"  And  —  for  it  is  better  you  should  know  all  — 
something  has  happened  to  the  railroad  in  which 
he  had  invested  so  much.  My  father  has  lost 
money  in  it  also,  but  not  much;  but  I  fear  that 
your  poor  dear  father  is  very  much  straitened. 
My  father  is  dreadfully  vexed  about  it,  and  thinks 
it  all  his  fault  in  not  having  watched  the  matter 
more  closely,  and  made  your  father  sell  out  in 
time ;  and  he  wants  your  father  to  come  and  live 
with  us,  but  he  will  not  hear  of  it  So  he  has 
given  up  the  old  house,  and  taken  one  in  Water 
Street ;  and  oh !  I  need  not  tell  you  that  we  are 
there  every  day,  and  that  I  am  trying  to  make  him 
as  happy  as  I  can  —  but  what  can  I  do  ?  "  And 
then  followed  kind  womanly  common-places,  which 
Tom  hurried  over  with  fierce  impatience. 

"  He  wants  you  to  come  home ;  but  my  father 
has  entreated  him  to  let  you  stay.  You  know, 
while  we  are  here,  he  is  safe;  and  my  father 
begs  you  not  to  come  home,  if  you  are  succeeding 
as  well  as  you  have  been  doing." 

There  was  much  more  in  the  letter,  which  I 
need  not  repeat ;  and,  after  all,  a  short  postscript 
by  Mark  himself  followed: 

"  Stay  where  you  are,  boy,  and  keep  up  heart ; 
while  I  have  a  pound,  your  father  shall  have  half 
of  it;  and  you  know  Mark  Armsworth." 

He  walked  away  slowly  into  the  forest.  He 
felt  that  the  crisis  of  his  life  was  come;  that 
he  must  turn  his  hand  henceforth  to  quite  new 
work ;  and  as  he  went  he  "  took  stock,"  as  it  were, 
of  his  own  soul,  to  see  what  point  he  had  attained 
—  what  he  could  do. 


58  Two  Years  Ago 

Fifteen  years  of  adventure  had  hardened  into 
wrought  metal  a  character  never  very  ductile. 
Tom  was  now,  in  his  own  way,  an  altogether 
accomplished  man  of  the  world,  who  knew  (at  least 
in  all  companies  and  places  where  he  was  likely  to 
find  himself)  exactly  what  to  say,  to  do,  to  make,  to 
seek,  and  to  avoid.  Shifty  and  thrifty  as  old  Greek, 
or  modern  Scot,  there  were  few  things  he  could 
not  invent,  and  perhaps  nothing  he  could  not 
endure.  He  had  watched  human  nature  under 
every  disguise,  from  the  pomp  of  the  ambassador 
to  the  war-paint  of  the  savage,  and  formed  his 
own  clear,  hard,  shallow,  practical  estimate  thereof. 
He  looked  on  it  as  his  raw  material,  which  he  had 
to  work  up  into  subsistence  and  comfort  for  him- 
self. He  did  not  wish  to  live  on  men,  but  live  by 
them  he  must ;  and  for  that  purpose  he  must  study 
them,  and  especially  their  weaknesses.  He  would 
not  cheat  them;  for  there  was  in  him  an  innate 
vein  of  honesty,  so  surly  and  explosive,  at  times, 
as  to  give  him  much  trouble.  The  severest  part  of 
his  self-education  had  been  the  repression  of  his 
dangerous  inclination  to  call  a  sham  a  sham  on  the 
spot,  and  to  answer  fools  according  to  their  folly. 
That  youthful  rashness,  however,  was  now  well- 
nigh  subdued,  and  Tom  could  flatter  and  bully 
also,  when  it  served  his  turn  —  as  who  cannot? 
Let  him  that  is  without  sin  among  my  readers  cast 
the  first  stone.  Self-conscious  he  was,  therefore, 
in  every  word  and  action ;  not  from  morbid  vanity, 
but  a  necessary  consequence  of  his  mode  of  life. 
He  had  to  use  men,  and  therefore  to  watch  how 
he  used  them ;  to  watch  every  word,  gesture,  tone 
of  voice,  and,  in  all  times  and  places,  do  the  fitting 
thing.  It  was  hard  work;  but  necessary  for  a  man 


Poetry  and  Prose  59 

who  stood  alone  and  self-poised  in  the  midst  of  the 
universe ;  fashioning  for  himself  everywhere,  just 
as  far  as  his  arm  could  reach,  some  not  intolerable 
condition ;  depending  on  nothing  but  himself,  and 
caring  for  little  but  himself  and  the  father  whom,  to 
do  him  justice,  he  never  forgot.  If  I  wished  to 
define  Tom  Thurnall  by  one  epithet,  I  should  call 
him  specially  an  ungodly  man  —  were  it  not  that 
scriptural  epithets  have,  nowadays,  such  altogether 
conventional  and  official  meanings,  that  one  fears 
to  convey,  in  using  them,  some  notion  quite  for- 
eign to  the  truth.  Tom  was  certainly  not  one  of 
those  ungodly  whom  David  had  to  deal  with  of 
old,  who  robbed  the  widow,  and  put  the  fatherless 
to  death.  His  morality  was  as  high  as  that  of  the 
average ;  his  sense  of  honor  far  higher.  He  was 
generous  and  kind-hearted.  No  one  ever  heard 
him  tell  a  lie ;  and  he  had  a  blunt  honesty  about 
him,  half  real,  because  he  liked  to  be  honest,  and 
yet  half  affected  too,  because  he  found  it  pay 
in  the  long  run,  and  because  it  threw  off  their  guard 
the  people  whom  he  intended  to  make  his  tools. 
But  of  godliness  in  its  true  sense  —  of  belief  that 
any  Being  above  cared  for  him,  and  was  helping 
him  in  the  daily  business  of  life  —  that  it  was  worth 
while  asking  that  Being's  advice,  or  that  any 
advice  would  be  given  if  asked  for ;  of  any  practi- 
cal notion  of  a  Heavenly  Father,  or  a  Divine 
education  —  Tom  was  as  ignorant  as  thousands  of 
respectable  people  who  go  to  church  every  Sun- 
day, and  read  good  books,  and  believe  firmly  that 
the  Pope  is  Antichrist.  He  ought  to  have  learnt 
it,  no  doubt,  for  his  father  was  a  religious  man; 
but  he  had  not  learnt  it,  any  more  than  thousands 
learn  it,  who  have  likewise  religious  parents.  He 


60  Two  Years  Ago 

had  been  taught,  of  course,  the  common  doctrines 
and  duties  of  religion;  but  early  remembrances 
had  been  rubbed  out,  as  off  a  schoolboy's  slate,  by 
the  mere  current  of  new  thoughts  and  objects, 
in  his  continual  wanderings.  Disappointments  he 
had  had,  and  dangers  in  plenty ;  but  only  such  as 
rouse  a  brave  and  cheerful  spirit  to  bolder  self- 
reliance  and  invention ;  not  those  deep  sorrows  of 
the  heart  which  leave  a  man  helpless  in  the  lowest 
pit,  crying  for  help  from  without,  for  there  is  none 
within.  He  had  seen  men  of  all  creeds,  and  had 
found  in  all  alike  (so  he  held)  the  many  rogues, 
and  the  few  honest  men.  All  religions  were,  in 
his  eyes,  equally  true  and  equally  false.  Supe- 
rior morality  was  owing  principally  to  the  in- 
fluences of  race  and  climate;  and  devotional 
experiences  (to  judge,  at » least,  from  American 
camp-meetings  and  popish  cities)  the  results  of  a 
diseased  nervous  system. 

Upon  a  man  so  hard  and  strong  this  fearful  blow 
had  fallen,  and,  to  do  him  justice,  he  took  it  like  a 
man.  He  wandered  on  and  on  for  an  hour  or  more, 
up  the  hills,  and  into  the  forest,  talking  to  himself. 

"  Poor  old  Willy !  I  should  have  liked  to  have 
looked  into  his  honest  face  before  he  went,  if  only 
to  make  sure  that  we  were  good  friends.  I  used 
to  plague  him  sadly  with  my  tricks.  But  what  is 
the  use  of  wishing  for  what  cannot  be  ?  I  recollect 
I  had  just  the  same  feeling  when  John  died ;  and 
yet  I  got  over  it  after  a  time,  and  was  as  cheerful 
as  if  he  were  alive  again,  or  had  never  lived  at  all. 
And  so  I  shall  get  over  this.  Why  should  I  give 
way  to  what  I  know  will  pass,  and  is  meant  to 
pass?  It  is  my  father  I  feel  for.  But  I  could  n't 
be  there ;  and  it  is  no  fault  of  mine  that  I  was  not 


Poetry  and  Prose  61 

there.  No  one  told  me  what  was  going  to  hap- 
pen; and  no  one  could  know;  so  again,  —  why 
grieve  over  what  can't  be  helped?" 

And  then,  to  give  the  lie  to  all  his  cool  argu- 
ments, he  sat  down  among  the  fern,  and  burst  into 
a  violent  fit  of  crying.  "  Oh,  my  poor  dear  old 
daddy!" 

Yes ;  beneath  all  the  hard  crust  of  years,  that 
fountain  of  life  still  lay  pure  as  when  it  came  down 
from  heaven  —  love  for  his  father. 

"  Come,  come,  this  won't  do ;  this  is  not  the  way 
to  take  stock  of  my  goods,  either  mental  or  worldly. 
I  can't  cry  the  dear  old  man  out  of  this  scrape." 

He  looked  up.  The  sun  was  setting.  Beneath 
the  dark  roof  of  evergreens  the  eucalyptus  boles 
stood  out,  like  basalt  pillars,  black  against  a  back- 
ground of  burning  flame.  The  flying  foxes  shot 
from  tree  to  tree,  and  moths  as  big  as  sparrows 
whirred  about  the  trunks,  one  moment  black  against 
the  glare  beyond,  and  vanishing  the  next,  like 
imps  of  darkness,  into  their  native  gloom.  There 
was  no  sound  of  living  thing  around,  save  the  ghastly 
rattle  of  the  dead  bark  tassels  which  swung  from 
every  tree,  and,  far  away,  the  faint  clicking  of  the 
diggers  at  their  work,  like  the  rustle  of  a  gigantic 
ant-hill.  Was  there  one  among  them  all  who 
cared  for  him?  who  would  not  forget  him  in  a 
week  with  — "  Well,  he  was  pleasant  company, 
poor  fellow,"  and  go  on  digging  without  a  sigh? 
What,  if  it  were  his  fate  to  die,  as  he  had  seen 
many  a  stronger  man,  there  in  that  lonely  wilder- 
ness, and  sleep  for  ever,  unhonored  and  unknown, 
beneath  that  awful  forest  roof,  while  his  father 
looked  for  bread  to  others'  hands? 

No    man  was   less    sentimental,   no    man   less 


62  Two  Years  Ago 

superstitious,  than  Thomas  Thurnall ;  but  crushed 
and  softened  —  all  but  terrified  (as  who  would  not 
have  been?) — by  that  day's  news,  he  could  not 
struggle  against  the  weight  of  loneliness  which  fell 
upon  him.  For  the  first  and  last  time,  perhaps, 
in  his  life,  he  felt  fear;  a  vague,  awful  dread  of 
unseen  and  inevitable  possibilities.  Why  should 
not  calamity  fall  on  him,  wave  after  wave  ?  Was 
it  not  falling  on  him  already?  Why  should  he 
not  grow  sick  to-morrow,  break  his  leg,  his  neck 

—  why  not?    What  guarantee  had  he  in  earth  or 
heaven  that  he  might  not  be  "  snuffed  out  silently," 
as   he   had   seen   hundreds   already,  and  die  and 
leave  no  sign?    And  there  sprung  up  in  him  at 
once  the  intensest  yearning  after  his  father  and  the 
haunts  of  his  boyhood,  and  the  wildest  dread  that 
he  should  never  see  them.     Might  not  his  father 
be  dead   ere  he  could  return?  —  if  ever  he  did 
return.     That  twelve  thousand  miles  of  sea  looked 
to  him  a  gulf  impassable.     Oh,  that  he  were  safe 
at  home !  that  he  could  start  that  moment !     And 
for  one  minute  a  helplessness,  as  of  a  lost  child, 
came  over  him. 

Perhaps  it  had  been  well  for  him  had  he  given 
that  feeling  vent,  and,  confessing  himself  a  lost 
child,  cried  out  of  the  darkness  to  a  Father;  but 
the  next  minute  he  had  dashed  it  proudly  away. 

"Pretty  baby  I  am,  to  get  frightened,  at  my 
time  of  life,  because  I  find  myself  in  a  dark  wood 

—  and  the  sun  shining  all  the  while  as  jollily  as 
ever  away  there  in  the  west !     It  is  morning  some- 
where or  other  now,  and  it  will  be  morning  here 
again  to-morrow.     '  Good   times   and  bad   times, 
and  all  times  pass  over ; '  —  I  learnt   that  lesson 
out  of  old  Bewick's  vignettes,  and  it  has  stood  me 


Poetry  and  Prose  63 

in  good  stead  this  many  a  year,  and  shall  now. 
Die?  Nonsense.  I  take  more  killing  than  that 
comes  to.  So  for  one  more  bout  with  old  Dame 
Fortune.  If  she  throws  me  again,  why,  I'll  get 
up  again,  as  I  have  any  time  these  fifteen  years. 
Mark 's  right.  I  '11  stay  here  and  work  till  I  make 
a  hit,  or  luck  runs  dry,  and  then  home  and  settle ; 
and,  meanwhile,  I  '11  go  down  to  Melbourne  to- 
morrow, and  send  the  dear  old  man  two  hundred 
pounds;  and  then  back  again  here,  and  to  it 
again." 

And  with  a  fate-defiant  smile,  half  bitter  and 
half  cheerful,  Tom  rose  and  went  down  again 
to  his  mates,  and  stopped  their  inquiries  by  — 
"  What 's  done  can't  be  mended,  and  need  n't  be 
mentioned;  whining  won't  make  me  work  the 
harder,  and  harder  than  ever  I  must  work." 

Strange  it  is,  how  mortal  man,  "  who  cometh 
up  and  is  cut  down  like  the  flower,"  can  thus  harden 
himself  into  stoical  security,  and  count  on  the 
morrow,  which  may  never  come.  Yet  so  it  is; 
and,  perhaps,  if  it  were  not  so,  no  work  would 
get  done  on  earth,  —  at  least  by  the  many  who 
know  not  that  God  is  guiding  them,  while  they 
fancy  that  they  are  guiding  themselves. 


CHAPTER  II 

STILL  LIFE 

1MUST  now,  if  I  am  to  bring  you  to  "Two  years 
ago,"  and  to  my  story,  as  it  was  told  to  me,  ask 
you  to  follow  me  into  the  good  old  West  Country, 
and  set  you  down  at  the  back  of  an  old  harbor 
pier ;  thirty  feet  of  gray  and  brown  boulders,  spotted 
aloft  with  bright  yellow  lichens,  and  black  drops 
of  tar,  polished  lower  down  by  the  surge  of  cent- 
uries, and  towards  the  foot  of  the  wall  roughened 
with  crusts  of  barnacles,  and  mussel-nests  in  crack 
and  cranny,  and  festoons  of  coarse  dripping  weed. 
On  a  low  rock  at  its  foot,  her  back  resting 
against  the  Cyclopean  wall,  sits  a  young  woman 
of  eight-and-twenty,  soberly,  almost  primly  dressed, 
with  three  or  four  tiny  children  clustering  round 
her.  In  front  of  them,  on  a  narrow  spit  of  sand 
between  the  rocks,  a  dozen  little  girls  are  laughing, 
romping,  and  pattering  about,  turning  the  stones 
for  "  shannies  "  and  "  bullies,"  and  other  luckless 
fish  left  by  the  tide ;  while  the  party  beneath  the 
pier  wall  look  steadfastly  down  into  a  little  rock- 
pool  at  their  feet,  full  of  the  pink  and  green  and 
purple  cut-work  of  delicate  weeds  and  coraline,  and 
starred  with  great  sea-dahlias,  crimson  and  brown 
and  gray,  and  with  the  waving  snake-locks  of  the 
Cereus,  pale  blue,  and  rose-tipped  like  the  fingers 
of  the  dawn.  One  delicate  Medusa  is  sliding  across 
the  pool,  by  slow  pantings  of  its  crystal  bell ;  and 


Still  Life  65 

on  it  the  eyes  of  the  whole  group  are  fixed  —  for 
it  seems  to  be  the  subject  of  some  story  which  the 
village  schoolmistress  is  finishing  in  a  sweet,  half- 
abstracted  voice : 

"And  so  the  cruel  soldier  was  changed  into  a 
great  rough  red  starfish,  who  goes  about  killing 
the  poor  mussels,  while  nobody  loves  him,  or  cares 
to  take  his  part;  and  the  poor  little  girl  was 
changed  into  a  beautiful  bright  jelly-fish,  like  that 
one,  who  swims  about  all  day  in  the  pleasant  sun- 
shine, with  a  red  cross  stamped  on  its  heart." 

"  Oh,  mistress,  what  a  pretty  story ! "  cry  the 
little  ones,  with  tearful  eyes.  "  And  what  shall  we 
be  changed  to  when  we  die?" 

"  If  we  will  only  be  good  we  shall  go  up  to 
Jesus,  and  be  beautiful  angels,  and  sing  hymns. 
Would  that  it  might  be  soon,  soon ;  for  you  and 
me,  and  all ! "  And  she  draws  the  children  to 
her,  and  looks  upward,  as  if  longing  to  bear  them 
with  her  aloft. 

Let  us  leave  the  conversation  where  it  is,  and 
look  into  the  face  of  the  speaker,  who,  young  as 
she  is,  has  already  meditated  so  long  upon  the 
mystery  of  death  that  it  has  grown  lovely  in  her 
eyes. 

Her  figure  is  tall,  graceful,  and  slight,  the  sever- 
ity of  rits  outlines  suiting  well  with  the  severity  of 
her  dress,  with  the  brown  stuff  gown  and  plain 
gray  whittle.  Her  neck  is  long,  almost  too  long; 
but  all  defects  are  forgotten  in  the  first  look  at  her 
face.  We  can  see  it  fully,  for  her  bonnet  lies  be- 
side her  on  the  rock. 

The  mask,  though  thin,  is  perfect.  The  brow, 
like  that  of  Greek  statue,  looks  lower  than  it  really 
is,  for  the  hair  springs  from  below  the  bend  of  the 


66  Two  Years  Ago 

forehead.  The  brain  is  very  long,  and  sweeps 
backward  and  upward  in  grand  curves,  till  it  at- 
tains above  the  ears  a  great  expanse  and  height. 
She  should  be  a  character  more  able  to  feel  than 
to  argue ;  full  of  all  a  woman's  veneration,  devo- 
tion, love  of  children,  —  perhaps,  too,  of  a  woman's 
anxiety. 

The  nose  is  slightly  aquiline ;  the  sharp-cut  nos- 
trils indicate  a  reserve  of  compressed  strength  and 
passion ;  the  mouth  is  delicate ;  the  lips,  which  are 
full  and  somewhat  heavy,  not  from  coarseness,  but 
rather  from  languor,  show  somewhat  of  both  the 
upper  and  the  under  teeth.  Her  eyes  are  bent  on 
the  pool  at  her  feet ;  so  that  we  can  see  nothing  of 
them  but  the  large  sleepy  lids,  fringed  with  lashes 
so  long  and  dark  that  the  eye  looks  as  if  it  had 
been  painted,  in  the  Eastern  fashion,  with  anti- 
mony; the  dark  lashes,  dark  eyebrows,  dark  hair, 
crisped  (as  West-country  hair  so  often  is)  to  its 
very  roots,  increase  the  almost  ghost-like  paleness 
of  the  face,  not  sallow,  not  snow-white,  but  of  a 
clear,  bloodless,  waxen  hue. 

And  now  she  lifts  her  eyes  —  dark  eyes,  of  pre- 
ternatural largeness;  brilliant,  too,  but  not  with 
the  sparkle  of  the  diamond ;  brilliant  as  deep  clear 
wells  are,  in  which  the  mellow  moonlight  sleeps 
fathom-deep  between  black  walls  of  rock;  and 
round  them,  and  round  the  wide-opened  lips,  and 
arching  "eyebrow,  and  slightly  wrinkled  forehead, 
hangs  an  air  of  melancholy  thought,  vague  doubt, 
almost  of  startled  fear ;  then  that  expression  passes, 
and  the  whole  face  collapses  into  a  languor  of  pa- 
tient sadness,  which  seems  to  say,  "  I  cannot  solve 
the  mystery.  Let  Him  solve  it  as  seems  good  to 
Him." 


Still  Life  67 

The  pier  has,  as  usual,  two  stages;  the  upper 
and  narrower  for  a  public  promenade,  the  lower 
and  broader  one  for  business.  Two  rough  collier 
lads,  strangers  to  the  place,  are  lounging  on  the 
wall  above,  and  begin,  out  of  mere  mischief,  drop- 
ping pebbles  on  the  group  below. 

"  Hillo !  you  young  rascals,"  calls  an  old  man 
lounging  like  them  on  the  wall;  "if  you  don't 
drop  that,  you  're  likely  to  get  your  heads  broken." 

"Will  you  do  it?" 

"  I  would  thirty  years  ago ;  but  I  '11  find  a  dozen 
in  five  minutes  who  will  do  it  now.  Here,  lads ! 
here's  two  Welsh  vagabonds  pelting  our  school- 
mistress." 

This  is  spoken  to  a  group  of  Sea  Titans,  who 
are  sitting  about  on  the  pier-way  behind  him, 
in  red  caps,  blue  jackets,  striped  jerseys,  bright 
brown  trousers,  and  all  the  picturesque  comfort 
of  a  fisherman's  costume,  superintending  the  mend- 
ing of  a  boat. 

Up  jumped  half  a  dozen  off  the  logs  and  balk- 
ings,  where  they  have  been  squatting,  doubled  up 
knee  to  nose,  after  the  fashion  of  their  class,  and  a 
volley  of  execrations,  like  a  storm  of  grape,  almost 
blows  the  two  offenders  off  the  wall.  The  bolder, 
however,  lingers,  anathematizing  in  turn ;  whereon 
a  black-bearded  youth,  some  six  feet  four  in  height 
catches  up  an  oar,  makes  a  sweep  at  the  shins  of 
the  lad  above  his  head,  and  brings  him  writhing 
down  upon  the  upper  pier-way,  whence  he  walks 
off  howling,  and  muttering  threats  of  "  taking  the 
law."  In  vain;  there  is  not  a  magistrate  within 
ten  miles ;  and  custom,  lynch-law,  and  the  coast- 
guard lieutenant  settle  all  matters  in  Aberalva 
town,  and  do  so  easily  enough;  for  the  petty 

Vol.  10— D 


68  Two  Years  Ago 

crimes  which  fill  our  jails  are  all  unknown  among 
those  honest  Vikings'  sons;  and  any  man  who 
covets  his  neighbor's  goods  instead  of  stealing 
them  has  only  to  go  and  borrow  them,  on  condi- 
tion, of  course,  of  lending  in  his  turn. 

"What's  that  collier  lad  hollering  about,  Cap- 
tain Willis?  "asks  Mr.  Tard  re  w,  steward  to  Lord 
Scoutbush,  landlord  of  Aberalva,  as  he  comes  up 
to  the  old  man. 

"Gentleman  Jan  cut  him  over,  for  pelting  the 
schoolmistress  below  here." 

"Serve  him  right;  he'll  have  to  cut  over  that 
curate  next,  I  reckon." 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Tardrew,  don't  you  talk  so ;  the 
young  gentleman  is  as  kind  a  man  as  I  ever  saw, 
and  comes  in  and  out  of  our  house  like  a  lamb." 

"Wolf  in  sheep's  clothing,"  growls  Tardrew. 
"What  d'ye  think  he  says  to  me  last  week? 
Wanted  to  turn  the  schoolmistress  out  of  her 
place  because  she  went  to  chapel  sometimes." 

"  I  know,  I  know,"  replied  Willis,  in  the  tone  of 
a  man  who  wished  to  avoid  a  painful  subject. 
"And  what  did  you  answer,  then,  Mr.  Tardrew?" 

"  I  told  him  he  might  if  he  liked ;  but  he  'd 
make  the  place  too  hot  to  hold  him,  if  he  had  n't 
done  it  already,  with  his  bowings  and  his  cross- 
ings, and  his  chantings,  and  his  popish  Gregories 
—  and  tells  one  he's  no  papist;  called  him  Pope 
Gregory  himself.  What  do  we  want  with  popes' 
tunes  here,  instead  of  the  Old  Hundred  and  Mar- 
tyrdom? I  should  like  to  see  any  pope  of  the  lot 
make  a  tune  like  them." 

Captain  Willis  listened  with  a  face  half  sad,  half 
slyly  amused.  He  and  Tardrew  were  old  friends ; 
being  the  two  most  notable  persons  in  the  parish, 


Still  Life  69 

save  Jones  the  lieutenant,  Heale  the  doctor,  and 
another  gentleman,  of  whom  we  shall  speak  pre- 
sently. Both  of  them,  too,  were  thorough-going 
Protestants,  and,  though  Churchmen,  walked  some- 
times into  the  Brianite  Chapel  of  an  afternoon,  and 
thought  it  no  sin.  But  each  took  the  curate's 
"  Puseyism  "  in  a  different  way,  being  two  men  as 
unlike  each  other  as  one  could  well  find. 

Tardrew  —  steward  to  Lord  Scoutbush,  the 
absentee  landlord  —  was  a  shrewd,  hard-bitten, 
choleric  old  fellow,  of  the  shape,  color,  and  con- 
sistence of  a  red  brick;  one  of  those  English 
types  which  Mr.  Emerson  has  so  well  hit  off  in 
his  rather  confused  and  contradictory  "  Traits :  " 

"  He  hides  virtues  under  vices,  or,  rather,  under 
the  semblance  of  them.  It  is  the  misshapen, 
hairy,  Scandinavian  Troll  again  who  lifts  the  cart 
out  of  the  mire,  or  threshes  the  corn  which  ten 
day-laborers  could  not  end :  but  it  is  done  in  the 
dark,  and  with  muttered  maledictions.  He  is  a 
churl  with  a  soft  place  in  his  heart,  whose  speech 
is  a  brash  of  bitter  waters,  but  who  loves  to  help 
you  at  a  pinch.  He  says,  No ;  and  serves  you, 
and  his  thanks  disgust  you."  Such  was  Tardrew 
—  a  true  British  bull-dog,  who  lived  pretty  faith- 
fully up  to  his  Old  Testament,  but  had,  somehow, 
forgotten  the  existence  of  the  New. 

Willis  was  a  very  different  and  a  very  much 
nobler  person;  the  most  perfect  specimen  which 
I  ever  have  met  (for  I  knew  him  well,  and  loved 
him)  of  that  type  of  British  sailor  which  good 
Captain  Marryat  has  painted  in  his  "  Masterman 
Ready,"  and  painted  far  better  than  I  can,  even 
though  I  do  so  from  life.  A  tall  and  graceful  old 
man,  though  stooping  much  from  lumbago  and 


jo  Two  Years  Ago 

old  wounds;  with  snow-white  hair  and  whiskers, 
delicate  aquiline  features,  the  manners  of  a  noble- 
man, and  the  heart  of  a  child.  All  children  knew 
that  latter  fact,  and  clung  to  him  instinctively. 
Even  "  the  Boys,"  that  terrible  Berserk-tribe,  self- 
organized,  self-dependent,  and  bound  together  in 
common  iniquities  and  the  dread  of  common  retri- 
bution, who  were  in  Aberalva,  as  all  fishing  towns, 
the  torment  and  terror  of  all  douce  fogies,  male 
and  female  —  even  "the  Boys/'  I  say,  respected 
Captain  Willis,  so  potent  was  the  influence  of  his 
gentleness;  nailed  not  up  his  shutters,  nor  tied 
fishing-lines  across  his  doorway;  tail-piped  not 
his  dog,  nor  sent  his  cat  to  sea  on  a  barrel-stave ; 
put  not  live  crabs  into  his  pocket,  nor  dead  dog- 
fish into  his  well;  yea,  even  when  judgment,  too 
long  provoked,  made  bare  her  red  right  hand, 
and  the  lieutenant  vowed  by  his  commission  that 
he  would  send  half  a  dozen  of  them  to  the  tread- 
mill, they  would  send  up  a  deputation  to  "beg 
Captain  Willis  to  beg  the  schoolmistress  to  beg 
them  off."  For  between  Willis  and  that  fair  young 
creature  a  friendship  had  grown  up,  easily  to  be 
understood.  Willis  was  one  of  those  rare  natures 
upon  whose  purity  no  mire  can  cling;  who  pass 
through  the  furnace,  and  yet  not  even  the  smell 
of  fire  has  passed  upon  them.  Bred,  almost  born, 
on  board  a  smuggling  cutter,  in  the  old  war-times  ; 
then  hunting,  in  the  old  coast-blockade  service, 
the  smugglers  among  whom  he  had  been  trained ; 
watching  the  slow  horrors  of  the  Walcheren; 
fighting  under  Collingwood  and  Nelson,  and  many 
another  valiant  Captain;  lounging  away  years  of 
temptation  on  the  West  Indian  station,  as  sailing- 
master  of  a  ship-of-the-line ;  pensioned  comfort- 


Still  Life  71 

ably  now  for  many  a  year  in  his  native  town,  he 
had  been  always  the  same  gentle,  valiant,  right- 
eous man ;  sober  in  life,  strict  in  duty,  and  simple 
in  word ;  a  soul  as  transparent  as  crystal,  and  as 
pure.  He  was  the  oracle  of  Aberalva  now ;  and 
even  Lieutenant  Brown  would  ask  his  opinion — • 
non-commissioned  officer  though  he  was  —  in  a 
tone  which  was  all  the  more  patronizing,  because 
he  stood  a  little  in  awe  of  the  old  man. 

But  why,  when  the  boys  wanted  to  be  begged  off, 
was  the  schoolmistress  to  be  their  advocate?  Be- 
cause Grace  Harvey  exercised,  without  intending 
anything  of  the  kind,  an  almost  mesmeric  influ- 
ence on  every  one  in  the  little  town.  Goodness 
rather  than  talent  had  given  her  wisdom,  and 
goodness  rather  than  courage  a  power  of  using 
that  wisdom,  which,  to  those  simple,  superstitious 
folk,  seemed  altogether  an  inspiration.  There  was 
a  mystery  about  her,  too,  which  worked  strongly 
on  the  hearts  of  the  West-country  people.  She 
was  supposed  to  be  at  times  "  not  right ;  "  and 
wandering  intellect  is  with  them,  as  with  many 
primitive  peoples,  an  object  more  of  awe  than  of 
pity.  Her  deep  melancholy  alternated  with  bursts 
of  wild  eloquence,  with  fantastic  fables,  with  en- 
treaties and  warnings  against  sin,  full  of  such  pity 
and  pathos  that  they  melted,  at  times,  the  hardest 
hearts.  A  whole  world  of  strange  tales,  half  false, 
half  true,  had  grown  up  around  her  as  she  grew. 
She  was  believed  to  spend  whole  nights  in  prayer ; 
to  speak  with  visitors  from  the  other  world ;  even 
to  have  the  power  of  seeing  into  futurity.  The 
intensity  of  her  imagination  gave  rise  to  the  belief 
that  she  had  only  to  will,  and  she  could  see  whom 
she  would,  and  all  that  they  were  doing,  even 


72  Two  Years  Ago 

across  the  seas ;  her  exquisite  sensibility,  it  was 
whispered,  made  her  feel  every  bodily  suffering 
she  witnessed  as  acutely  as  the  sufferer's  self,  and 
in  the  very  limb  in  which  he  suffered.  Her  deep 
melancholy  was  believed  to  be  caused  by  some 
dark  fate  —  by  some  agonizing  sympathy  with 
evil-doers ;  and  it  was  sometimes  said  in  Aberalva 
— "  Don't  do  that,  for  poor  Grace's  sake.  She 
bears  the  sins  of  all  the  parish." 

So  it  befell  that  Grace  Harvey  governed,  she 
knew  not  how  or  why,  all  hearts  in  that  wild  simple 
fishing  town.  Rough  men,  fighting  on  the  quay, 
shook  hands  at  Grace's  bidding.  Wives  who 
could  not  lure  their  husbands  from  the  beer-shop 
sent  Grace  in  to  fetch  them  home,  sobered  by 
shame ;  and  woe  to  the  stranger  who  fancied  that 
her  entrance  into  that  noisy  den  gave  him  a  right  to 
say  a  rough  word  to  the  fair  girl !  The  maidens, 
instead  of  envying  her  beauty,  made  her  the 
confidante  of  all  their  loves ;  for  though  many  a 
man  would  gladly  have  married  her,  to  woo  her 
was  more  than  any  dared ;  and  Gentleman  Jan 
himself,  the  rightful  bully  of  the  quay,  as  being 
the  handsomest  and  biggest  man  for  many  a  mile, 
besides  owning  a  tidy  trawler  and  two  good  mack- 
erel boats,  had  said  openly,  that  if  any  man  had  a 
right  to  her,  he  supposed  he  had  ;  but  that  he 
should  as  soon  think  of  asking  her  to  marry  him, 
as  of  asking  the  moon. 

But  it  was  in  the  school,  in  the  duty  which  lay 
nearest  to  her,  that  Grace's  inward  loveliness  shone 
most  lovely.  Whatever  dark  cloud  of  melancholy 
lay  upon  her  own  heart,  she  took  care  that  it 
should  never  overshadow  one  of  those  young 
innocents,  whom  she  taught  by  love  and  ruled  by 


Still  Life  73 

love,  always  tender,  always  cheerful,  even  gay  and 
playful;  punishing,  when  she  rarely  punished, 
with  tears  and  kisses.  To  make  them  as  happy 
as  she  could  in  a  world  where  there  was  nothing 
but  temptation,  and  disappointment,  and  misery; 
to  make  them  "  fit  for  heaven,"  and  then  to  pray 
that  they  might  go  thither  as  speedily  as  possible, 
this  had  been  her  work  for  now  seven  years ;  and 
that  Manichaeism  which  has  driven  darker  and 
harder  natures  to  destroy  young  children,  that 
they  might  go  straight  to  bliss,  took  in  her  the 
form  of  outpourings  of  gratitude  (when  the  first 
natural  tears  were  dried),  as  often  as  one  of  her 
little  lambs  was  "  delivered  out  of  the  miseries  of 
this  sinful  world."  But  as  long  as  they  were  in 
the  world,  she  was  their  guardian  angel;  and 
there  was  hardly  a  mother  in  Aberalva  who  did 
not  confess  her  debt  to  Grace,  not  merely  for  her 
children's  scholarship,  but  for  their  characters. 

Frank  Headley  the  curate,  therefore,  had  touched 
altogether  the  wrong  chord  when  he  spoke  of  dis- 
placing Grace.  And  when,  that  same  afternoon, 
he  sauntered  down  to  the  pier-head,  wearied  with 
his  parish  work,  not  only  did  Tardrew  stump  away 
in  silence  as  soon  as  he  appeared,  but  Captain 
Willis's  face  assumed  a  grave  and  severe  look, 
which  was  not  often  to  be  seen  on  it. 

"Well,  Captain  Willis?"  said  Frank,  solitary 
and  sad ;  longing  for  a  talk  with  some  one,  and  not 
quite  sure  whether  he  was  welcome. 

"  Well,  sir?  "  and  the  old  man  lifted  his  hat,  and 
made  one  of  his  princely  bows.  "  You  look  tired, 
sir;  I  am  afraid  you're  doing  too  much." 

"  I  shall  have  more  to  do  soon,"  said  the 
curate,  his  eye  glancing  towards  the  schoolmis- 


74  Two  Years  Ago 

tress,  who,  disturbed  by  the  noise  above,  was 
walking  slowly  up  the  beach,  with  a  child  holding 
to  every  finger,  and  every  fold  of  her  dress. 

Willis  saw  the  direction  of  his  eye,  and  came  at 
once  to  the  point,  in  his  gentle,  straightforward 
fashion. 

"  I  hear  you  have  thoughts  of  taking  the  school 
from  her,  sir?  " 

"  Wljy — indeed  —  I  shall  be  very  sorry;  but 
if  she  will  persist  in  going  to  the  chapel,  I  cannot 
overlook  the  sin  of  schism." 

"  She  takes  the  children  to  church  twice  a 
Sunday,  don't  she?  And  teaches  them  all  that 
you  tell  her  — — " 

"  Why  —  yes  —  I  have  taken  the  religious  in- 
struction almost  into  my  own  hands  now." 

Willis  smiled  quietly. 

"  You  '11  excuse  an  old  sailor,  sir ;  but  I  think 
that's 'more  than  mortal  man  can  do.  There's  no 
hour  of  the  day  but  what  she 's  teaching  them 
something.  She 's  telling  them  Bible  stories  now, 
I  '11  warrant,  if  you  could  hear  her." 

Frank  made  no  answer. 

"You  wouldn't  stop  her  doing  that?  Oh,  sir/' 
and  the  old  man  spoke  with  a  quiet  earnestness 
which  was  not  without  its  effect,  "just  look  at 
her  now,  like  the  Good  Shepherd  with  His  lambs 
about  His  feet,  and  think  whether  that 's  not  much 
too  pretty  a  sight  to  put  an  end  to,  in  a  poor  sin- 
ful world  like  this." 

"  It  is  my  duty,"  said  Frank,  hardening  him- 
self. "It  pains  me  exceedingly,  Willis;  I  hope 
I  need  not  tell  you  that." 

"  If  I  know  aught  of  Mr.  Headley's  heart  by 
his  ways,  you  need  n't  indeed,  sir." 


Still  Life  75 

"  But  I  cannot  allow  it.  Her  mother  a  class 
leader  among  these  Dissenters,  and  one  of  the 
most  active  of  them,  too.  The  school  next  door 
to  her  house.  The  preacher,  of  course,  has  influ- 
ence there,  and  must  have.  How  am  I  to  instil 
Church  principles  into  them,  if  he  is  counteracting 
me  the  moment  my  back  is  turned  ?  I  have  made 
up  my  mind,  Willis,  to  do  nothing  in  a  hurry. 
Lady-day  is  past,  and  she  must  go  on  till  Mid- 
summer; then  I  shall  take  the  school  into  my 
own  hands,  and  teach  them  myself,  for  I  can  pay 
no  mistress  or  master;  and  Mr.  St.  Just " 

Frank  checked  himself  as  he  was  going  to  speak 
the  truth;  namely,  that  his  sleepy  old  absentee 
rector,  Lord  Scoutbush's  uncle,  would  yawn  and 
grumble  at  the  move,  and  wondering  why  Frank 
"  had  not  the  sense  to  leave  ill  alone,"  would  give 
him  no  manner  of  assistance  beyond  his  pittance 
of  eighty  pound  a-year,  and  five  pounds  at  Christ- 
mas to  spend  on  the  poor. 

"  Excuse  me,  sir,  I  don't  doubt  that  you  '11  do 
your  best  in  teaching,  as  you  always  do :  but  I  tell 
you  honestly,  you  '11  get  no  children  to  teach." 

"No  children?" 

"Their  mothers  know  the  worth  of  Grace  too 
well,  and  the  children  too,  sir ;  and  they  '11  go  to 
her  all  the  same,  do  what  you  will ;  and  never  a 
one  will  enter  the  church  door  from  that  day  forth." 

"  On  their  own  heads  be  it !  "  said  Frank,  a 
little  testily;  "but  I  should  not  have  fancied 
Miss  Harvey  the  sort  of  person  to  set  up  herself 
in  defiance  of  me." 

"  The  more  reason,  sir,  if  you  '11  forgive  me,  for 
your  not  putting  upon  her." 

"  I  do  not  want  to  put  upon  her  or  any  one.     I 


76  Two  Years  Ago 

will  do  everything.  I  will, —  I  do  —  work  day  and 
night  for  these  people,  Mr.  Willis.  I  tell  you,  as 
I  would  my  own  father.  I  don't  think  I  have 
another  object  on  earth  —  if  I  have,  I  hope  I  shall 
forget  it  —  than  the  parish :  but  Church  principles 
I  must  carry  out." 

"  Well,  sir,  certainly  no  man  ever  worked  here 
as  you  do.  If  all  had  been  like  you,  sir,  there 
would  not  be  a  Dissenter  here  now;  but  excuse 
me,  sir,  the  Church  is  a  very  good  thing,  and  I 
keep  to  mine,  having  served  under  her  Majesty, 
and  her  Majesty's  forefathers,  and  learnt  to  obey 
orders,  I  hope ;  but  don't  you  think,  sir,  you  're 
taking  it  as  the  Pharisees  took  the  Sabbath-day?" 

"How  then?" 

"  Why,  as  if  man  was  made  for  the  Church,  and 
not  the  Church  for  man." 

"That  is  a  shrewd  thought,  at  least.  Where 
did  you  pick  it  up?" 

"  'T  is  none  of  my  own,  sir ;  a  bit  of  wisdom  that 
my  maid  let  fall ;  and  it  has  stuck  to  me  strangely 
ever  since." 

"Your  maid?" 

"  Yes,  Grace  there.  I  always  call  her  my  maid ; 
having  no  father,  poor  thing,  she  looks  up  to  me 
as  one,  pretty  much  —  the  dear  soul.  Oh,  sir !  I 
hope  you  '11  think  over  this  again,  before  you  do 
anything.  It's  done  in  a  day:  but  years  won't 
undo  it  again." 

So  Grace's  sayings  were  quoted  against  him. 
Her  power  was  formidable  enough,  if  she  dare  use 
it.  He  was  silent  awhile,  and  then : 

"Do  you  think  she  has  heard  of  this  —  of 
my- 

"  Honesty 's  the  best  policy,  sir :  she  has ;  and 


Still  Life  77 

that's  the  truth.  You  know  how  things  get 
round." 

"  Well ;  and  what  did  she  say?  " 

"  I  '11  tell  you  her  very .  words,  sir ;  and  they 
were  these,  if  you  '11  excuse  me.  '  Poor  dear  gen- 
tleman,' says  she,  '  if  he  thinks  chapel-going  so 
wrong,  why  does  he  dare  drive  folks  to  chapel? 
I  wonder,  every  time  he  looks  at  that  deep  sea, 
he  don't  remember  what  the  Lord  said  about  it, 
and  those  who  cause  His  little  ones  to  offend.' " 

Frank  was  somewhat  awed.  The  thought  was 
new ;  the  application  of  the  text,  as  his  own  scholar- 
ship taught  him,  even  more  exact  than  Grace  had 
fancied. 

"  Then  she  was  not  angry? " 

"  She,  sir?  You  could  n't  anger  her  if  you  tore 
her  in  pieces  with  hot  pincers,  as  they  did  those 
old  martyrs  she's  always  telling  about." 

"  Good-bye,  Willis,"  said  Frank,  in  a  hopeless 
tone  of  voice,  and  sauntered  to  the  pier-end,  down 
the  steps,  and  along  the  lower  pier-way,  burdened 
with  many  thoughts.  He  came  up  to  the  knot  of 
chatting  sailors.  Not  one  of  them  touched  his 
cap,  or  moved  out  of  the  way  for  him.  The  boat 
lay  almost  across  the  whole  pier-way;  and  he 
stopped,  awkwardly  enough,  for  there  was  not 
room  to  get  by. 

"  Will  you  be  so  kind  as  to  let  me  pass  ?  "  asked 
he,  meekly  enough.  But  no  one  stirred. 

"Why  don't  you  get  up,  Tom?"  asked  one. 

"  I  be  lame." 

"  So  be  I." 

"  The  gentleman  can  step  over  me,  if  he  likes," 
said  big  Jan,  a  proposition  the  impossibility  whereof 
raised  a  horse-laugh. 


78  Two  Years  Ago 

"Ain't  you  ashamed  of  yourselves,  lads?"  said 
the  severe  voice  of  Willis,  from  above.  The  men 
rose  sulkily ;  and  Frank  hastened  on,  as  ready  to 
cry  as  ever  he  had  been  in  his  life.  Poor  fellow ! 
he  had  been  laboring  among  these  people  for  now 
twelve  months,  as  no  man  had  ever  labored  before, 
and  he  felt  that  he  had  not  won  the  confidence  of 
a  single  human  being, — not  even  of  the  old  women, 
who  took  his  teaching  for  the  sake  of  his  charity, 
and  who  scented  popery,  all  the  while,  in  words  in 
which  there  was  no  popery,  and  in  doctrines  which 
were  just  the  same,  on  the  whole,  as  those  of  the 
dissenting  preacher,  simply  because  he  would 
sprinkle  among  them  certain  words  and  phrases 
which  had  become  "suspect,"  as  party  badges. 
His  church  was  all  but  empty ;  the  general  excuse 
was,  that  it  was  a  mile  from  the  town ;  but  Frank 
knew  that  that  was  not  the  true  reason ;  that  all 
the  parish  had  got  it  into  their  heads  that  he  had 
a  leaning  to  popery;  that  he  was  going  over  to 
Rome ;  that  he  was  probably  a  Jesuit  in  disguise. 

Now,  be  it  always  remembered,  Frank  Headley 
was  a  good  man,  in  every  sense  of  the  word.  He 
had  nothing,  save  the  outside,  in  common  with 
those  undesirable  coxcombs  who  have  not  been 
bred  by  the  High  Church  movement,  but  have 
taken  refuge  in  its  cracks,  as  they  would  have 
done  forty  years  ago  in  those  of  the  Evangelical,  — 
youths  who  hide  their  crass  ignorance  and  dulness 
under  the  cloak  of  Church  infallibility,  and  having 
neither  wit,  manners,  learning,  humanity,  or  any 
other  dignity  whereon  to  stand,  talk  \o\id,  pour  pis 
aller,  about  the  dignity  of  the  priesthood.  Such 
men  Frank  had  met  at  neighboring  clerical  meet- 
ings, overbearing  and  out-talking  the  elder  and 


Still  Life  79 

the  wiser  members;  and  finding  that  he  got  no 
good  from  them,  had  withdrawn  into  his  parish 
work,  to  eat  his  own  heart,  like  Bellerophon  of 
old.  For  Frank  was  a  gentleman,  and  a  Christian, 
if  ever  one  there  was.  Delicate  in  person,  all  but 
consumptive ;  graceful  and  refined  in  all  his  works 
and  ways;  a  scholar,  elegant  rather  than  deep, 
yet  a  scholar  still;  full  of  all  love  for  painting, 
architecture,  and  poetry,  he  had  come  down  to 
bury  himself  in  this  remote  curacy,  in  the  honest 
desire  of  doing  good.  He  had  been  a  curate  in 
a  fashionable  London  church;  but  finding  the 
atmosphere  thereof  not  over  wholesome  to  his 
soul,  he  had  had  the  courage  to  throw  off  St. 
Nepomuc's,  its  brotherhoods,  sisterhoods,  and  all 
its  gorgeous  and  highly-organized  appliances  for 
enabling  five  thousand  rich  to  take  tolerable  care 
of  five  hundred  poor;  and  had  fled  from  "the 
holy  virgins "  (as  certain  old  ladies,  who  do  twice 
their  work  with  half  their  noise,  call  them)  into 
the  wilderness  of  Bethnal  Green.  But  six  months' 
gallant  work  there,  with  gallant  men  (for  there 
are  High  Churchmen  there  who  are  an  honor  to 
England),  brought  him  to  death's  door.  The 
doctors  commanded  some  soft  western  air.  Frank, 
as  chivalrous  as  a  knight-errant  of  old,  would  fain 
have  died  at  his  post,  but  his  mother  interfered ; 
and  he  could  do  no  less  than  obey  her.  So  he 
had  taken  this  remote  West-country  curacy;  all 
the  more  willingly  because  he  knew  that  nine- 
tenths  of  the  people  were  Dissenters.  To  recover 
that  place  to  the  Church  would  be  something 
worth  living  for.  So  he  had  come,  and  labored 
late  and  early ;  and  behold,  he  had  failed  utterly ; 
and  seemed  further  than  ever  from  success.  He 


80  Two  Years  Ago 

had  opened,  too  hastily,  a  crusade  against  the 
Dissenters,  and  denounced  where  he  should  have 
conciliated.  He  had  overlooked  —  indeed  he  hardly 
knew  —  the  sad  truth,  that  the  mere  fact  of  his 
being  a  clergyman  was  no  passport  to  the  hearts 
of  his  people.  For  the  curate  who  preceded  him 
had  been  an  old  man,  mean,  ignorant,  incapable, 
remaining  there  simply  because  nobody  else  would 
have  him,  and  given  to  brandy-and-water  as  much 
as  his  flock.  The  rector  for  the  last  fifteen  years, 
Lord  Scoutbush's  uncle,  was  a  cipher.  The  rec- 
tor before  him  had  notoriously  earned  the  living 
by  a  marriage  with  a  lady  who  stood  in  some  ques- 
tionable relation  to  Lord  Scoutbush's  father,  and 
who  had  never  had  a  thought  above  his  dinner 
and  his  tithes;  and  all  that  the  Aberalva  fisher- 
men knew  of  God  or  righteousness,  they  had 
learnt  from  the  soi-disant  disciples  of  John  Wes- 
ley. So  Frank  Headley  had  to  make  up,  at 
starting,  the  arrears  of  half  a  century  of  base 
neglect;  but  instead  of  doing  so,  he  had  con- 
trived to  awaken  against  himself  that  dogged 
hatred  of  popery  which  lies  inarticulate  and  con- 
fused, but  deep  and  firm,  in  the  heart  of  the 
English  people.  Poor  fellow !  if  he  made  a  mis- 
take, he  suffered  for  it.  There  was  hardly  a 
sadder  soul  than  poor  Frank,  as  he  went  list- 
lessly up  the  village  street  that  afternoon,  to  his 
lodging  at  Captain  Willis's,  which  he  had  taken 
because  he  preferred  living  in  the  village  itself  to 
occupying  the  comfortable  rectory  a  mile  out  of 
town. 

However,  we  cannot  set  him  straight ;  —  after 
all,  every  man  must  perform  that  office  for  himself. 
So  the  best  thing  we  can  do,  as  we  landed,  nat- 


Still  Life  8 1 

orally,  at  the  pier-head,  is  to  walk  up-street 
after  him,  and  see  what  sort  of  a  place  Aberalva 
is. 

Beneath  us,  to  the  left  hand,  is  the  quay-pool, 
now  lying  dry,  in  which  a  dozen  trawlers  are  lop- 
ping over  on  their  sides,  their  red  sails  drying  in 
the  sun,  the  tails  of  the  trawls  hauled  up  to  the 
topmast  heads;  while  the  more  handy  of  their 
owners  are  getting  on  board  by  ladders,  to  pack 
away  the  said  red  sails ;  for  it  will  blow  to-night. 
In  the  long  furrows  which  their  keels  have  left, 
and  in  the  shallow  muddy  pools,  lie  innumerable 
fragments  of  exenterated  maids  (not  human  ones, 
pitiful  reader,  but  belonging  to  the  order  Pisces, 
and  the  family  Raia),  and  some  twenty  non-exen- 
terated  ray-dogs  and  picked  dogs  (Anglice,  dog- 
fish), together  with  a  fine  basking  shark,  at  least 
nine  feet  long,  out  of  which  the  kneeling  Mr. 
George  Thomas,  clothed  in  pilot  cloth  patches  of 
every  hue,  bright  scarlet,  blue,  and  brown  (not  to 
mention  a  large  square  of  white  canvas  which  has 
been  let  into  that  part  of  his  trousers  which  is  now 
uppermost),  is  dissecting  the  liver,  for  the  purpose 
of  greasing  his  "  sheaves "  with  the  fragrant  oil 
thereof.  The  pools  in  general  are  bedded  with 
black  mud,  and  creamed  over  with  oily  flakes 
which  may  proceed  from  the  tar  on  the  vessels' 
sides,  and  may  also  from  "  decomposing  animal 
matter,"  as  we  euphemize  it  nowadays.  The  hot 
pebbles,  at  high  tide  mark,  —  crowned  with  a  long 
black  row  of  herring  and  mackerel  boats,  laid  up 
in  ordinary  for  the  present,  —  are  beautifully  vari- 
egated with  mackerel's  heads,  gurnets'  fins,  old 
hag,  lobworm,  and  mussel-baits,  and  the  inwards 
of  a  whole  ichthyological  museum;  save  at  one 


82  Two  Years  Ago 

spot  where  the  Cloaca  Maxima  and  Port  Esqui- 
line  of  Aberalva  town  (small  enough,  considering 
the  place  holds  fifteen  hundred  souls)  murmurs 
from  beneath  a  gray  stone  arch  toward  the  sea, 
not  unfraught  with  dead  rats  and  cats,  who,  their 
ancient  feud  forgotten,  combine  lovingly  at  last  in 
increasing  the  health  of  the  blue-trousered  urchins 
who  are  sailing  upon  that  Acherontic  stream  bits 
of  board  with  a  feather  stuck  in  it,  or  of  their  tiny 
sisters,  who  are  dancing  about  in  the  dirtiest  pool 
among  the  trawlers  in  a  way  which  (if  your  re- 
spectable black  coat  be  seen  upon  the  pier)  will 
elicit  from  one  of  the  balconied  windows  above, 
decked  with  reeking  shirts  and  linen,  some  such 
shriek  as  : 

"  Patience  Penberthy,  Patience  Penberthy  —  a ! 
You  nasty,  dirty,  little  ondecent  hussy  —  a !  What 
be  playing  in  the  quay-pool  for  —  a?  A  pulling 
up  your  pesticoats  before  the  quality  —  a !  "  Each 
exclamation  being  followed  with  that  droning 
grunt,  with  which  the  West-country  folk,  after 
having  screamed  their  lungs  empty  through  their 
noses,  recover  their  breath  for  a  fresh  burst. 

Never  mind;  it  is  no  nosegay,  certainly,  as  a 
whole:  but  did  you  ever  see  sturdier,  rosier, 
nobler-looking  children,  —  rounder  faces,  raven 
hair,  bright  gray  eyes,  full  of  fun  and  tenderness? 
As  for  the  dirt,  that  cannot  harm  them ;  poor  peo- 
ple's children  must  be  dirty  —  why  not?  Look  on 
fifty  yards  to  the  left.  Between  two  ridges  of  high 
pebble  bank,  some  twenty  yards  apart,  comes  Alva 
river  rushing  to  the  sea.  On  the  opposite  ridge,  a 
low  white  house,  with  three  or  four  white  canvas- 
covered  boats,  and  a  flag-staff  with  sloping  cross- 
yard,  betokens  the  coastguard  station.  Beyond  it 


Still  Life  83 

rise  black  jagged  cliffs ;  mile  after  mile  of  iron-bound 
wall :  and  here  and  there,  at  the  glens'  mouths, 
great  banks  and  denes  of  shifting  sand.  In  front  of 
it,  upon  the  beach,  are  half  a  dozen  great  green  and 
gray  heaps  of  Welsh  limestone ;  behind  it,  at  the 
cliff  foot,  is  the  lime-kiln,  with  its  white  dusty  heaps, 
and  brown  dusty  men,  its  quivering  mirage  of  hot 
air,  its  strings  of  patient  hay-nibbling  donkeys, 
which  look  as  if  they  had  just  awakened  out  of  a 
flour  bin.  Above,  a  green  down  stretches  up  to 
bright  yellow  furze-crofts  far  aloft.  Behind,  a 
reedy  marsh,  covered  with  red  cattle,  paves  the 
valley  till  it  closes  in ;  the  steep  sides  of  the  hills 
are  clothed  in  oak  and  ash  covert,  in  which,  three 
months  ago,  you  .could  have  shot  more  cocks  in 
one  day  than  you  would  in  Berkshire  in  a  year. 
Pleasant  little  glimpses  there  are,  too,  of  gray 
stone  farmhouses,  nestling  amongst  sycamore 
and  beech;  bright-green  meadows,  alder-fringed; 
squares  of  rich  red  fallow-field,  parted  by  lines  of 
golden  furze;  all  cut  out  with  a  peculiar  black- 
ness, and  clearness,  soft  and  tender  withal,  which 
betokens  a  climate  surcharged  with  rain.  Only,  in 
the  very  bosom  of  the  valley,  a  soft  mist  hangs, 
increasing  the  sense  of  distance,  and  softening  back 
one  hill  and  wood  behind  another,  till  the  great 
brown  moor  which  backs  it  all  seems  to  rise  out 
of  the  empty  air.  For  a  thousand  feet  it  ranges 
up,  in  rude  sheets  of  brown  heather,  and  gray 
cairns  and  screes  of  granite,  all  sharp  and  black- 
edged  against  the  pale  blue  sky ;  and  all  suddenly 
cut  off  above  by  one  long  horizontal  line  of  dark 
gray  cloud,  which  seems  to  hang  there  motionless, 
and  yet  is  growing  to  windward,  and  dying  to  lee- 
ward, for  ever  rushing  out  of  the  invisible  into 


84  Two  Years  Ago 

sight,  and  into  the  invisible  again,  at  railroad 
speed.  Out  of  nothing  the  moor  rises,  and  into 
nothing  it  ascends  —  a  great  dark  phantom  be- 
tween earth  and  sky,  boding  rain  and  howling 
tempest,  and  perhaps  fearful  wreck  —  for  the 
groundswell  moans  and  thunders  on  the  beach 
behind  us,  louder  and  louder  every  moment. 

Let  us  go  on,  and  up  the  street,  after  we  have 
scrambled  through  the  usual  labyrinth  of  timber- 
balks,  rusty  anchors,  boats  which  have  been 
dragged,  for  the  purpose  of  mending  and  tarring, 
into  the  very  middle  of  the  road,  and  old  spars 
stowed  under  walls,  in  the  vain  hope  that  they 
may  be  of  some  use  for  something  some  day,  and 
have  stood  the  stares  and  welcomes  of  the  lazy 
giants  who  are  sitting  about  upon  them,  black- 
locked,  black-bearded,  with  ruddy,  wholesome 
faces,  and  eyes  as  bright  as  diamonds ;  men  who 
are  on  their  own  ground,  and  know  it;  who  will 
not  touch  their  caps  to  you,  or  pull  the  short  black 
pipe  from  between  their  lips  as  you  pass,  but  ex- 
pect you  to  prove  yourself  a  gentleman,  by  speak- 
ing respectfully  to  them;  which,  if  you  do,  you 
will  find  them  as  hearty,  intelligent,  brave  fellows 
as  ever  walked  this  earth,  capable  of  anything, 
from  working  the  naval-brigade  guns  at  Sevastopol 
down  to  running  up  to  ...  a  hundred  miles  in  a 
cockleshell  lugger,  to  forestall  the  early  mackerel 
market.  God  be  with  you,  my  brave  lads,  and 
with  your  children  after  you ;  for  as  long  as  you 
are  what  I  have  known  you,  Old  England  will  rule 
the  seas,  and  many  a  land  beside  ! 

But  in  going  up  Aberalva  Street,  you  remark 
several  things;  first,  that  the  houses  were  all 
whitewashed  yesterday,  except  where  the  snowy 


Still  Life  85 

white  is  picked  out  by  buttresses  of  pink  and  blue; 
next,  that  they  all  have  bright  green  palings  in 
front,  and  bright  green  window-sills  and  frames ; 
next,  that  they  are  all  roofed  with  shining  gray 
slate,  and  the  space  between  the  window  and  the 
pales  flagged  with  the  same;  next,  that  where 
such  space  is  not  flagged,  it  is  full  of  flowers  and 
shrubs  which  stand  the  winter  only  in  our  green- 
houses. The  fuchsias  are  ten  feet  high,  laden  with 
ripe  purple  berries  running  over  (for  there  are  no 
birds  to  pick  them  off)  ;  and  there,  in  the  front  of 
the  coastguard  lieutenant's  house,  is  Cobaea  scan- 
dens,  covered  with  purple  claret-glasses,  as  it  has 
been  ever  since  Christmas:  for  Aberalva  knows 
no  winter :  and  there  are  grown-up  men  in  it  who 
never  put  on  a  skate,  or  made  a  snowball  in  their 
lives.  A  most  cleanly,  bright-colored,  foreign- 
looking  street,  is  that  long  straggling  one  which 
runs  up  the  hill  towards  Penalva  Court:  only 
remark,  that  this  cleanliness  is  gained  by  making 
the  gutter  in  the  middle  street  the  common  sewer 
of  the  town,  and  tread  clear  of  cabbage-leaves, 
pilchard  bones,  et  id  genus  omne.  For  Aberalva  is 
like  Paris  (if  the  answer  of  a  celebrated  sanitary 
reformer  to  the  Emperor,  be  truly  reported),  "  fair 
without  but  foul  within." 

However,  the  wind  is  blowing  dull  and  hollow 
from  southwest ;  the  clouds  are  rolling  faster  and 
faster  up  from  the  Atlantic ;  the  sky  to  westward 
is  brassy  green ;  the  glass  is  falling  fast ;  and  there 
will  be  wind  and  rain  enough  to-night  to  sweep 
even  Aberalva  clean  for  the  next  week. 

Grace  Harvey  sees  the  coming  storm,  as  she 
goes  slowly  homewards,  dismissing  her  little  flock ; 
and  she  lingers  long  and  sadly  outside  her  cottage 


86  Two  Years  Ago 

door,  looking  out  over  the  fast  blackening  sea,  and 
listening  to  the  hollow  thunder  of  the  groundswell 
against  the  back  of  the  point  which  shelters  Aber- 
alva  Cove. 

Far  away  on  the  horizon,  the  masts  of  stately 
ships  stand  out  against  the  sky,  driving  fast  to  the 
eastward  with  shortened  sail.  They,  too,  know 
what  is  coming ;  and  Grace  prays  for  them  as  she 
stands,  in  her  wild  way,  with  half  outspoken  words. 

"  All  those  gallant  ships,  dear  Lord !  and  so 
many  beautiful  men  in  them,  and  so  few  of  them 
ready  to  die ;  and  all  those  gallant  soldiers  going 
to  the  war;  — Lord,  wilt  thou  not  have  mercy? 

Spare  them  for  a  little  time  before Is  not 

that  cruel,  man-devouring  sea  full  enough,  Lord ; 
and  brave  men's  bones  enough,  strewn  up  and  down 
all  rocks  and  sands?  And  is  not  that  dark  place 
full  enough,  O  Lord,  of  poor  souls  cut  off  in  a 
moment,  as  my  two  were?  Oh,  not  to-night,  dear 
Lord  !  Do  not  call  any  one  to-night —  give  them 
a  day  more,  one  chance  more,  poor  fellows  —  they 
have  had  so  few,  and  so  many  temptations,  and, 
perhaps,  no  schooling.  They  go  to  sea  so  early, 
and  young  things  will  be  young  things,  Lord. 
Spare  them  but  one  night  more  —  and  yet  He  did 
not  spare  my  two  —  they  had  no  time  to  repent, 
and  have  no  time  for  ever,  evermore  !  " 

And  she  stands  looking  out  over  the  sea ;  but 
she  has  lost  sight  of  everything,  save  her  own  sad 
imaginations.  Her  eyes  open  wider  and  wider,  as 
if  before  some  unseen  horror ;  the  eyebrows  con- 
tract upwards;  the  cheeks  sharpen;  the  mouth 
parts ;  the  lips  draw  back,  showing  the  white  teeth, 
as  if  in  intensest  agony.  Thus  she  stands  long, 
motionless,  awe-frozen,  save  when  a  shudder  runs 


Still  Life  87 

through  every  limb,  with  such  a  countenance  as 
that  "  fair  terror  "  of  which  Shelley  sang: 

"  Its  horror  and  its  beauty  are  divine ; 
Upon  its  lips  and  eyelids  seem  to  lie 
Loveliness  like  a  shadow,  from  which  shine, 
Fiery  and  lucid,  struggling  underneath, 
The  agonies  of  anguish  and  of  death." 

Her  mother  comes  out  from  the  cottage  door 
behind,  and  lays  her  hand  upon  the  girl's  shoulder. 
The  spell  is  broken;  and  hiding  her  face  in  her 
hands,  Grace  bursts  into  violent  weeping. 

"  What  are  you  doing,  my  poor  child,  here,  in 
the  cold  night  air?" 

"  My  two,  mother,  my  two  !  "  said  she ;  "  and  all 
the  poor  souls  at  sea  to-night !  " 

"  You  must  n't  think  of  it.  Have  n't  I  told  you 
not  to  think  of  it?  One  would  lose  one's  wits  if 
one  did  too  often."  . 

"  If  it  is  all  true,  mother,  what  else  is  there  worth 
thinking  of  in  heaven  or  earth?  " 

And  Grace  goes  in  with  a  dull,  heavy  look  of 
utter  exhaustion,  bodily  and  mental,  and  quietly 
sets  the  things  for  supper,  and  goes  about  her  cot- 
tage work,  as  one  who  bears  a  heavy  chain,  but 
has  borne  it  too  long  to  let  it  hinder  the  daily 
drudgery  of  life. 

Grace  had  reason  to  pray  at  least  for  the  soldiers 
who  were  going  to  the  war.  For  as  she  prayed,  the 
"  Orinoco,"  "  Ripon,"  and  "  Manilla  "  were  steam- 
ing down  Southampton  Water,  with  the  Guards  on 
board ;  and  but  that  morning  little  Lord  Scoutbush, 
left  behind  at  the  depot,  had  bid  farewell  to  his  best 
friend,  opposite  Buckingham  Palace,  while  the  bear- 
skins were  on  the  bayonet-points,  with : 


88  Two  Years  Ago 

"  Well,  old  fellow,  you  have  the  fun,  after  all,  and 
I  the  work;  "  and  had  been  answered  with: 

"Fun?  there  will  be  no  righting;  and  I  shall 
only  have  lost  my  season  in  town." 

Was  there,  then,  no  man  among  them  that  day, 
who 

"  As  the  trees  began  to  whisper  and  the  wind  began  to  roll, 
Heard  in  the  wild  March  morning  the  angels  call  his  soul  ?  " 

Verily  they  are  gone  down  to  Hades,  even  many 
stalwart  souls  of  heroes. 


CHAPTER  III 

ANYTHING  BUT  STILL  LIFE 

TDENALVA  COURT,  about  half  a  mile  from 
JL  the  quay,  is  "  like  a  house  in  a  story ;  "  —  a 
house  of  seven  gables,  and  those  very  shaky  ones ; 
a  house  of  useless  long  passages,  useless  turrets, 
vast  lumber  attics  where  maids  see  ghosts,  lofty 
garden  and  yard  walls  of  gray  stone,  round  which 
the  wind  and  rain  are  lashing  through  the  dreary 
darkness ;  low  oak-ribbed  ceilings ;  windows  which 
once  were  mullioned  with  stone,  but  now  with  wood 
painted  white;  walls  which  were  once  oak-wain- 
scot, but  have  been  painted  like  the  mullions,  to 
the  disgust  of  Elsley  Vavasour,  poet,  its  occupant 
in  March,  1854,  who  forgot  that,  while  the  oak  was 
left  dark,  no  man  could  have  seen  to  read  in  the 
rooms  a  yard  from  the  window. 

He  has,  however,  little  reason  to  complain  of  the 
one  drawing-room,  where  he  and  his  wife  are  sit- 
ting, so  pleasant  has  she  made  it  look,  in  spite  of 
the  plainness  of  the  furniture.  A  bright  log-fire  is 
burning  on  the  hearth.  There  are  a  few  good 
books  too,  and  a  few  handsome  prints ;  while  some 
really  valuable  knick-knacks  are  set  out,  with  par- 
donable ostentation,  on  a  little  table  covered  with 
crimson  velvet.  It  is  only  cotton  velvet,  if  you 
look  close  at  it;  but  the  things  are  pretty  enough 
to  catch  the  eye  of  all  visitors ;  and  Mrs.  Heale, 
the  doctor's  wife  (who  always  calls  Mrs.  Vavasour 


90  Two  Years  Ago 

"my  lady,"  though  she  does  not  love  her),  and 
Mrs.  Trebooze,  of  Trebooze,  always  finger  them 
over  when  they  have  any  opportunity,  and  whisper 
to  each  other,  half  contemptuously,  "  Ah,  poor 
thing !  there  's  a  sign  that  she  has  seen  better  days." 
And  better  days,  in  one  sense,  Mrs.  Vavasour 
has  seen.  I  am  afraid,  indeed,  that  she  has  more 
than  once  regretted  the  morning  when  she  ran 
away  in  a  hack-cab  from  her  brother  Lord  Scout- 
bush's  house  in  Eaton  Square,  to  be  married  to 
Elsley  Vavasour,  the  gifted  author  of  "  A  Soul's 
Agonies,  and  other  Poems."  He  was  a  lion  then, 
with  foolish  women  running  after  him,  and  turning 
his  head  once  and  for  all ;  and  Lucia  St.  Just  was 
a  wild  Irish  girl,  new  to  London  society,  all  feeling 
and  romance,  and  literally  all ;  for  there  was  little 
real  intellect  underlying  her  passionate  sensibility. 
So  when  the  sensibility  burnt  itself  out,  as  it  gener- 
ally does ;  and  when  children,  and  the  weak  health 
which  comes  with  them,  and  the  cares  of  a  house- 
hold, and  money  difficulties,  were  absorbing  her 
little  powers,  Elsley  Vavasour  began  to  fancy  that 
his  wife  was  a  very  common-place  person  who  was 
fast  losing  even  her  good  looks  and  her  good 
temper.  So,  on  the  whole,  they  were  not  happy. 
Elsley  was  an  affectionate  man,  and  honorable  to  a 
fantastic  nicety ;  but  he  was  vain,  capricious,  over- 
sensitive, craving  for  admiration  and  distinction; 
and  it  was  not  enough  for  him  that  his  wife  loved 
him,  bore  him  children,  kept  his  accounts,  mended 
and  moiled  all  day  long  for  him  and  his ;  he  wanted 
her  to  act  the  public  for  him  exactly  when  he  was 
hungry  for  praise;  and  that  not  the  actual,  but  an 
altogether  ideal,  public ;  to  worship  him  as  a  deity, 
"  live  for  him  and  him  alone,"  realize  his  poetic 


Anything  but  Still  Life  91 

dreams  of  marriage  bliss,  and  talk  sentiment  with 
him,  or  listen  to  him  talking  sentiment  to  her,  when 
she  would  much  sooner  be  safe  in  bed  burying  all 
the  petty  cares  of  the  day,  and  the  pain  in  her  back 
too,  poor  thing !  in  sound  sleep ;  and  so  it  befell 
that  they  often  quarrelled  and  wrangled,  and  that 
they  were  quarrelling  and  wrangling  this  very  night. 

Who  cares  to  know  how  it  began  ?  Who  cares 
to  hear  how  it  went  on,  —  the  stupid,  aimless  skir- 
mish of  bitter  words,  between  two  people  who  had 
forgotten  themselves?  I  believe  it  began  with 
Elsley's  being  vexed  at  her  springing  up  two  or 
three  times,  fancying  that  she  heard  the  children 
cry,  while  he  wanted  to  be  quiet,  and  sentimen- 
talize over  the  roaring  of  the  wind  outside.  Then 
—  she  thought  of  nothing  but  those  children. 
Why  did  she  not  take  a  book  and  occupy  her 
mind?  To  which  she  had  her  pert,  though  just 
answer,  about  her  mind  having  quite  enough  to  do 
to  keep  clothes  on  the  children's  backs,  and  so 
forth,  —  let  who  list  imagine  the  miserable  little 
squabble ;  —  till  she  says,  —  "I  know  what  has 
put  you  out  so  to-night ;  nothing  but  the  news  of 
my  sister's  coming."  He  answers,  —  That  her 
sister  is  as  little  to  him  as  to  any  man ;  as  welcome 
to  come  now  as  she  has  been  to  stay  away  these 
three  years. 

"  Ah,  it 's  very  well  to  say  that ;  but  you  have 
been  a  different  person  ever  since  that  letter 
came."  And  so  she  torments  him  into  an  angry 
self-justification  (which  she  takes  triumphantly  as 
a  confession)  that  "  it  is  very  disagreeable  to  have 
his  thoughts  broken  in  on  by  one  who  has  no 
sympathy  with  him  and  his  pursuits  —  and  who 

"  and  at  that  point  he  wisely  stops  short,  for 

Vol.  10— E 


92  Two  Years  Ago 

he  was  going  to  throw  down  a  very  ugly  gage  of 
battle. 

Throw  down  or  not,  Lucia  snatches  at  it. 

"  Ah,  I  understand ;  poor  Valentia !  You 
always  hated  her." 

"  I  did  not :  but  she  is  so  brusque,  and  excited, 
and " 

"  Be  so  kind  as  not  to  abuse  my  family.  You 
may  say  what  you  will  of  me;  but " 

"And  what  have  your  family  done  for  me, 
pray?" 

"  Why,  considering  that  we  are  now  living  rent- 
free  in  my  brother's  house,  and "  She  stops 

in  her  turn ;  for  her  pride  and  her  prudence  also 
will  not  let  her  tell  him  that  Valentia  has  been 
clothing  her  and  the  children  for  the  last  three 
years.  He  is  just  the  man  to  forbid  her  on  the 
spot  to  receive  any  more  presents,  and  to  sacrifice 
her  comfort  to  his  own  pride.  But  what  she  has 
said  is  quite  enough  to  bring  out  a  very  angry 
answer,  which  she,  expecting,  nips  in  the  bud  by : 

"For  goodness'  sake  don't  speak  so  loud;  I 
don't  want  the  servants  to  hear." 

"I  am  not  speaking  loud"  (he  has  not  yet 
opened  his  lips).  "That  is  your  old  trick  to  pre- 
vent my  defending  myself,  while  you  are  driving 
one  mad.  How  dare  you  taunt  me  with  being  a 
pensioner  on  your  brother's  bounty?  I'll  go  up 
to  town  again  and  take  lodgings  there.  I  need 
not  be  beholden  to  any  aristocrat  of  them  all.  I 
have  my  own  station  in  the  real  world,  —  the  world 
of  intellect ;  I  have  my  own  friends ;  I  have  made 
myself  a  name  without  his  help ;  and  I  can  live 
without  his  help,  he  shall  find !  " 

"  Which  name  were  you  speaking  of?  "  rejoins 


Anything  but  Still  Life  93 

she,  looking  up  at  him,  with  all  her  native  Irish 
humor  flashing  up  for  a  moment  in  her  naughty 
eyes.  The  next  minute  she  would  have  given  her 
hand  not  to  have  said  it ;  for,  with  a  very  terrible 
word,  Elsley  springs  to  his  feet  and  dashes  out  of 
the  room. 

She  hears  him  catch  up  his  hat  and  cloak,  and 
hurry  out  into  the  rain,  slamming  the  door  behind 
him.  She  springs  up  to  call  him  back,  but  he  is 
gone ;  —  and  she  dashes  herself  on  the  floor,  and 
bursts  into  an  agony  of  weeping  over  "  young  bliss 
never  to  return  "  !  Not  in  the  least.  Her  princi- 
pal fear  is,  lest  he  should  catch  cold  in  the  rain. 
She  takes  up  her  work  again,  and  stitches  away 
in  the  comfortable  certainty  that  in  half  an  hour 
she  will  have  recovered  her  temper,  and  he  also ; 
that  they  will  pass  a  sulky  night ;  and  to-morrow, 
by  about  mid-day,  without  explanation  or  formal 
reconciliation,  have  become  as  good  friends  as 
ever.  "  Perhaps,"  says  she  to  herself,  with  a 
woman's  sense  of  power,  "  if  he  be  very  much 
ashamed  and  very  wet,  I  '11  pity  him  and  make 
friends  to-night." 

Miserable  enough  are  these  little  squabbles. 
Why  will  two  people,  who  have  sworn  to  love  and 
cherish  each  other  utterly,  and  who,  on  the  whole, 
do  what  they  have  sworn,  behave  to  each  other  as 
they  dare  for  very  shame  behave  to  no  one  else? 
Is  it  that,  as  every  beautiful  thing  has  its  hideous 
antitype,  this  mutual  shamelessness  is  the  devil's 
ape  of  mutual  confidence?  Perhaps  it  cannot  be 
otherwise  with  beings  compact  of  good  and  evil. 
When  the  veil  of  reserve  is  withdrawn  from  be- 
tween two  souls,  it  must  be  withdrawn  for  evil,  as 
for  good,  till  the  two  natures,  which  ought  to  seek 


94  Two  Years  Ago 

rest,  each  in  the  other's  inmost  depths,  may  at 
last  spring  apart,  confronting  each  other  recklessly 
with — " There,  you  see  me  as  I  am;  you  know 
the  worst  of  me,  and  I  of  you ;  take  me  as  you  find 
me  —  what  care  I  ?  " 

Elsley  and  Lucia  have  not  yet  arrived  at  that 
terrible  crisis ;  though  they  are  on  the  path  toward 
it,  —  the  path  of  little  carelessnesses,  rudenesses, 
ungoverned  words  and  tempers,  and,  worst  of  all, 
of  that  half-confidence,  which  is  certain  to  avenge 
itself  by  irritation  and  quarrelling ;  for  if  two  mar- 
ried people  will  not  tell  each  other  in  love  what 
they  ought,  they  will  be  sure  to  tell  each  other  in 
anger  what  they  ought  not.  It  is  plain  enough 
already  that  Elsley  has  his  weak  point,  which  must 
not  be  touched ;  something  about  "  a  name,"  which 
Lucia  is  to  be  expected  to  ignore,  —  as  if  anything 
which  really  exists  could  be  ignored  while  two 
people  live  together  night  and  day,  for  better  for 
worse.  Till  the  thorn  is  out,  the  wound  will  not 
heal ;  and  till  the  matter  (whatever  it  may  be)  is 
set  right  by  confession  and  absolution,  there  will 
be  no  peace  for  them,  for  they  are  living  in  a  lie ; 
and  unless  it  be  a  very  little  one  indeed,  better, 
perhaps  that  they  should  go  on  to  that  terrible 
crisis  of  open  defiance.  It  may  end  in  disgust, 
hatred,  madness ;  but  it  may,  too,  end  in  each  fall- 
ing again  upon  the  other's  bosom,  and  sobbing  out 
through  holy  tears  — "  Yes,  you  do  know  the 
worst  of  me,  and  yet  you  love  me  still.  This  is 
happiness,  to  find  oneself  most  loved  when  one 
most  hates  oneself!  God,  help  us  to  confess  our 
sins  to  Thee,  as  we  have  done  to  each  other,  and 
to  begin  life  again  like  little  children,  struggling 
hand  in  hand  out  of  this  lowest  pit,  up  the 


Anything  but  Still  Life  95 

steep  path  which  leads  to  life,  and  strength,  and 
peace." 

Heaven  grant  that  it  may  so  end !  But  now 
Elsley  has  gone  raging  out  into  the  raging  dark- 
ness ;  trying  to  prove  himself  to  himself  the  most 
injured  of  men,  and  to  hate  his  wife  as  much  as 
possible:  though  the  fool  knows  the  whole  time 
that  he  loves  her  better  than  anything  on  earth, 
even  than  that  "  fame,"  on  which  he  tries  to  fatten 
his  lean  soul,  snapping  greedily  at  every  scrap 
which  falls  in  his  way,  and  in  default  snapping  at 
everybody  and  everything  else.  And  little  comfort 
it  gives  him.  Why  should  it?  What  comfort,  save 
in  being  wise  and  strong?  And  is  he  the  wiser 
and  stronger  for  being  told  by  a  reviewer  that  he 
has  written  fine  words,  or  has  failed  in  writing 
them ;  or  to  have  silly  women  writing  to  ask  for 
his  autograph,  or  for  leave  to  set  his  songs  to 
music?  Nay, —  shocking  as  the  question  may 
seem,  —  is  he  the  wiser  and  stronger  man  for  be- 
ing a  poet  at  all,  and  a  genius? — provided,  of 
course,  that  the  word  genius  is  used  in  its  modern 
meaning,  of  a  person  who  can  say  prettier  things 
than  his  neighbors.  I  think  not.  Be  it  as  it  may, 
away  goes  the  poor  genius ;  his  long  cloak,  pic- 
turesque enough  in  calm  weather,  fluttering  about 
uncomfortably  enough,  while  the  rain  washes  his 
long  curls  into  swabs ;  out  through  the  old  garden, 
between  storm-swept  laurels,  beneath  dark  groan- 
ing pines,  and  through  a  door  in  the  wall  which 
opens  into  the  lane. 

The  road  leads  downward,  on  the  right,  into  the 
village.  He  is  in  no  temper  to  meet  his  fellow- 
creatures —  even  to  see  the  comfortable  gleam 
through  their  windows,  as  the  sailors  close  round 


96  Two  Years  Ago' 

the  fire  with  wife  and  child ;  so  he  turns  to  the  left, 
up  the  deep  stone-banked  lane,  which  leads  towards 
the  cliff,  dark  now  as  pitch,  for  it  is  overhung,  right 
and  left,  with  deep  oak-wood. 

It  is  no  easy  matter  to  proceed,  though,  for  the 
wind  pours  down  the  lane  as  through  a  funnel,  and 
the  road  is  of  slippery  bare  slate,  worn  here  and 
there  into  puddles  of  greasy  clay,  and  Elsley  slips 
back  half  of  every  step,  while  his  wrath,  as  he  tires, 
oozes  out  of  his  heels.  Moreover,  those  dark  trees 
above  him,  tossing  their  heads  impatiently  against 
the  scarcely  less  dark  sky,  strike  an  awe  into  him, 
—  a  sense  of  loneliness,  almost  of  fear.  An  un- 
canny, bad  night  it  is;  and  he  is  out  on  a  bad 
errand ;  and  he  knows  it,  and  wishes  that  he  were 
home  again.  He  does  not  believe,  of  course,  in 
those  "  spirits  of  the  storm,"  about  whom  he  has 
so  often  written,  any  more  than  he  does  in  a  great 
deal  of  his  fine  imagery ;  but  still,  in  such  charac- 
ters as  his,  the  sympathy  between  the  moods  of 
nature  and  those  of  the  mind  is  most  real  and 
important;  and  Dame  Nature's  equinoctial  night- 
wrath  is  weird,  gruesome,  crushing,  and  can  be 
faced  (if  it  must  be  faced)  in  real  comfort  only 
when  one  is  going  on  an  errand  of  mercy,  with  a 
clear  conscience,  a  light  heart,  a  good  cigar,  and 
plenty  of  mackintosh. 

So,  ere  Elsley  had  gone  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  he 
turned  back,  and  resolved  to  go  in,  and  take  up  his 
book  once  more.  Perhaps  Lucia  might  beg  his 
pardon;  and  if  not,  why,  perhaps  he  might  beg 
hers.  The  rain  was  washing  the  spirit  out  of  him, 
as  it  does  out  of  a  thin-coated  horse. 

Stay !  What  was  that  sound  above  the  roar  of 
the  gale?  A  cannon? 


Anything  but  Still  Life  97 

He  listened,  turning  his  head  right  and  left  to 
escape  the  howling  of  the  wind  in  his  ears.  A 
minute,  and  another  boom  rose  and  rang  aloft.  It 
was  near,  too.  He  almost  fancied  that  he  felt  the 
concussion  of  the  air. 

Another,  and  another;  and  then  in  the  village 
below,  he  could  see  lights  hurrying  to  and  fro.  A 
wreck  at  sea?  He  turned  again  up  the  lane.  He 
had  never  seen  a  wreck.  What  an  opportunity  for 
a  poet ;  and  on  such  a  night  too :  it  would  be 
magnificent  if  the  moon  would  but  come  out ! 
Just  the  scene,  too,  for  his  excited  temper !  He 
will  work  on  upward,  let  it  blow  and  rain  as  it  may. 
He  is  not  disappointed.  Ere  he  has  gone  a  hun- 
dred yards,  a  mass  of  dripping  oilskins  runs  full 
butt  against  him,  knocking  him  against  the  bank ; 
and,  by  the  clank  of  weapons,  he  recognizes  the 
coastguard  watchman. 

"  Hillo  !  —  who 's  that?  Beg  your  pardon,  sir," 
as  the  man  recognizes  Elsley's  voice. 

"  What  is  it?  —  what  are  the  guns  ? " 

"  God  knows,  sir !  Overright  the  Chough  and 
Crow ;  on  'em,  I  'm  afeared.  There  they  go  again ! 
—  hard  up,  poor  souls !  God  help  them !  "  and 
the  man  runs  shouting  down  the  lane. 

Another  gun,  and  another ;  but  long  ere  Elsley 
reaches  the  cliff,  they  are  silent ;  and  nothing  is  to 
be  heard  but  the  noise  of  the  storm,  which,  loud  as 
it  was  below  among  the  wood,  is  almost  intolerable 
now  that  he  is  on  the  open  down. 

He  struggles  up  the  lane  toward  the  cliff,  and 
there  pauses,  gasping,  under  the  shelter  of  a  wall, 
trying  to  analyze  that  enormous  mass  of  sound 
which  fills  his  ears  and  brain  and  flows  through  his 
heart  like  maddening  wine.  He  can  bear  the  sight 


98  Two  Years  Ago 

of  the  dead  grass  on  the  cliff-edge,  weary,  feeble, 
expostulating  with  its  old  tormentor  the  gale ;  then 
the  fierce  screams  of  the  blasts  as  they  rush  up 
across  the  layers  of  rock  below,  like  hounds  leap- 
ing up  at  their  prey;  and, far  beneath, the  horrible, 
confused  battle-roar  of  that  great  leaguer  of  waves. 
He  cannot  see  them,  as  he  strains  his  eyes  over  the 
wall  into  the  blank  depth,  —  nothing  but  a  con- 
fused welter  and  quiver  of  mingled  air,  and  rain, 
and  spray,  as  if  the  very  atmosphere  were  writhing 
in  the  clutches  of  the  gale :  but  he  can  hear,  — 
what  can  he  not  hear?  It  would  have  needed  a 
less  vivid  brain  than  Elsley's  to  fancy  another 
Badajos  beneath.  There  it  all  is :  —  the  rush  of 
columns  to  the  breach,  officers  cheering  them  on, 
—  pauses,  breaks,  wild  retreats,  upbraiding  calls, 
whispering  consultations,  fresh  rush  on  rush,  now 
here,  now  there,  —  fierce  shouts  above,  below, 
behind,  —  shrieks  of  agony,  choked  groans  and 
gasps  of  dying  men,  —  scaling-ladders  hurled  down 
with  all  their  rattling  freight,  —  dull  mine  explo- 
sions, ringing  cannon  thunder,  as  the  old  fortress 
blasts  back  its  besiegers  pell-mell  into  the  deep.  It 
is  all  there :  truly  enough  there,  at  least,  to  madden 
yet  more  Elsley's  wild  angry  brain,  till  he  tries  to  add 
his  shouts  to  the  great  battle-cries  of  land  and  sea, 
and  finds  them  as  little  audible  as  an  infant's  wail. 
Suddenly,  far  below  him,  a  bright  glimmer; 
and,  in  a  moment,  a  blue-light  reveals  the  whole 
scene,  in  ghastly  hues,  —  blue  leaping  breakers, 
blue  weltering  sheets  of  foam,  blue  rocks,  crowded 
with  blue  figures,  like  ghosts,  flitting  to  and  fro 
upon  the  brink  of  that  blue  seething  Phlegethon, 
and  rushing  up  towards  him  through  the  air,  a 
thousand  flying  blue  foam-sponges,  which  dive 


Anything  but  Still  Life  99 

over  the  brow  of  the  hill  and  vanish,  like  delicate 
fairies  fleeing  before  the  wrath  of  the  gale :  —  but 
where  is  the  wreck?  The  blue-light  cannot  pierce 
the  gray  veil  of  mingled  mist  and  spray  which 
hangs  to  seaward ;  and  her  guns  have  been  silent 
for  half  an  hour  and  more. 

Elsley  hurries  down,  and  finds  half  the  village 
collected  on  the  long  sloping  point  of  down  be- 
low. Sailors  wrapped  in  pilot-cloth,  oil-skin  coast- 
guardsmen,  women  with  their  gowns  turned  over 
their  heads,  staggering  restlessly  up  and  down, 
and  in  and  out,  while  every  moment  some  fresh- 
comer  stumbles  down  the  slope,  thrusting  himself 
into  his  clothes  as  he  goes,  and  asks,  "  Where 's 
the  wreck?"  and  gets  no  answer,  but  a  surly 
advice  to  "  hold  his  noise,"  as  if  they  had  hope  of 
hearing  the  wreck  which  they  cannot  see;  and 
kind  women,  with  their  hearts  full  of  mothers' 
instincts,  declare  that  they  can  hear  little  children 
crying,  and  are  pooh-poohed  down  by  kind  men, 
who,  man's  fashion,  don't  like  to  believe  anything 
too  painful,  or,  if  they  believe  it,  to  talk  of  it. 

"What  were  the  guns  from,  then,  Brown?" 
asks  the  lieutenant  of  the  head-boatman. 

"  Off  the  Chough  and  Crow,  I  thought,  sir. 
God  grant  not !  " 

"  You  thought,  sir,"  says  the  great  man,  will- 
ing to  vent  his  vexation  on  some  one.  "  Why 
didn't  you  make  sure?" 

"Why,  just  look,  lieutenant,"  says  Brown, 
pointing  into  the  "  blank  height  of  the  dark ;  " 
"  and  I  was  on  the  pier  too,  and  could  n't  see ;  but 

the  look-out  man  here  says "  A  shift  of  wind, 

a  drift  of  cloud,  and  the  moon  flashes  out  a  moment 
"  There  she  is,  sir." 


loo  Two  Years  Ago 

Some  three  hundred  yards  out  at  sea  lies  a  long 
curved  black  line,  beautiful,  severe,  and  still,  amid 
those  white  wild  leaping  hills.  A  murmur  from 
the  crowd,  which  swells  into  a  roar,  as  they  surge 
aimlessly  up  and  down. 

Another  moment,  and  it  is  cut  in  two  by  a  white 
line — covered  —  lost  —  all  hold  their  breaths.  No ; 
the  sea  passes  on,  and  still  the  black  curve  is  there, 
enduring. 

"  A  terrible  big  ship !  " 

"  A  Liverpool  clipper,  by  the  lines  of  her." 

"  God  help  the  poor  passengers,  then !  "  sobs 
a  woman,  "They're  past  our  help:  she's  on 
her  beam  ends." 

"  And  her  deck  upright  towards  us." 

"  Silence !  Out  of  the  way,  you  loafing  long- 
shores  !  "  shouts  the  lieutenant.  "  Brown  —  the 
rockets ! " 

What  though  the  lieutenant  be  somewhat  given 
to  strong  liquors,  and  stronger  language.  He 
wears  the  Queen's  uniform ;  and  what  is  more,  he 
knows  his  work  and  can  do  it;  all  make  a  silent 
ring  while  the  fork  is  planted;  the  lieutenant, 
throwing  away  the  end  of  his  cigar,  kneels  and 
adjusts  the  stick ;  Brown  and  his  mates  examine 
and  shake  out  the  coils  of  line. 

Another  minute,  and  the  magnificent  creature 
rushes  forth  with  a  triumphant Toar,  and  soars  aloft 
over  the  waves  in  a  long  stream  of  fire,  defiant  of 
the  gale. 

Is  it  over  her?  No!  A  fierce  gust,  which  all 
but  hurls  the  spectators  to  the  ground ;  the  fiery 
stream  sweeps  away  to  the  left,  in  a  grand  curve  of 
sparks,  and  drops  into  the  sea. 

"  Try   it    again ! "   shouts    the    lieutenant,   his 


Anything  but  Still  Life  101 

blood  now  up.  "  We  '11  see  which  will  beat,  wind 
or  powder." 

Again  a  rocket  is  fixed,  with  more  allowance 
for  the  wind ;  but  the  black  curve  has  disappeared, 
and  he  must  wait  awhile. 

"  There  it  is  again  !  Fly  swift  and  sure,"  cries 
Elsley,  "thou  fiery  angel  of  mercy,  bearing  the 
savior-line !  It  may  not  be  too  late  yet." 

Full  and  true  the  rocket  went  across  her ;  and 
"  Three  cheers  for  the  lieutenant !  "  rose  above  the 
storm. 

"  Silence,  lads  !  Not  so  bad,  though  ; "  says 
he,  rubbing  his  wet  hands.  "  Hold  on  by  the  line, 
and  watch  for  a  bite,  Brown." 

Five  minutes  pass.  Brown  has  the  line  in  his 
hand,  waiting  for  any  signal  touch  from  the  ship : 
but  the  line  sways  limp  in  the  surge. 

Ten  minutes.  The  lieutenant  lights  a  fresh 
cigar,  and  paces  up  and  down,  smoking  fiercely. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour;  and  yet  no  response. 
The  moon  is  shining  clearly  now.  They  can  see 
her  hatchways,  the  stumps  of  her  masts,  great 
tangles  of  rigging  swaying  and  lashing  down  across 
her  deck ;  but  that  delicate  upper  curve  is  becom- 
ing more  ragged  after  every  wave ;  and  the  tide 
is  rising  fast. 

"  There  's  a  pull !  "  shouts  Brown.  ..."  No, 
there  ain't!  .  .  .  God  have  mercy,  sir!  She's 
going !  " 

The  black  curve  boils  up,  as  if  a  mine  had  been 
sprung  on  board,  leaps  into  arches,  jagged  peaks, 
black  bars  crossed  and  tangled  ;  and  then  all 
melts  away  into  the  white  seething  waste ;  while 
the  line  floats  home  helplessly,  as  if  disappointed  ; 
and  the  billows  plunge  more  sullenly  and  sadly 


Two  Years  Ago 

towards  the  shore,  as  if  in  remorse  for  their  dark 
and  reckless  deed. 

All  is  over.  What  shall  we  do  now?  Go  home, 
and  pray  that  God  may  have  mercy  on  all  drown- 
ing souls?  Or  think  what  a  picturesque  and  trag- 
ical scene  it  was,  and  what  a  beautiful  poem  it 
will  make,  when  we  have  thrown  it  into  an  artistic 
form,  and  bedizened  it  with  conceits  and  analogies 
stolen  from  all  heaven  and  earth  by  our  own  self- 
willed  fancy? 

Elsley  Vavasour  —  through  whose  spectacles, 
rather  than  with  my  own  eyes,  I  have  been  look- 
ing at  the  wreck,  and  to  whose  account,  not  to 
mine,  the  metaphors  and  similes  of  the  last  two 
pages  must  be  laid  —  took  the  latter  course ;  not 
that  he  was  not  awed,  calmed,  and  even  humbled, 
as  he  felt  how  poor  and  petty  his  own  troubles 
were,  compared  with  that  great  tragedy;  but  in 
his  fatal  habit  of  considering  all  matters  in  heaven 
and  earth  as  bricks  and  mortar  for  the  poet  to 
build  with,  he  considered  that  he  had  "  seen 
enough ;  "  as  if  men  were  sent  into  the  world  to 
see,  and  not  to  act ;  and  going  home  too  excited 
to  sleep,  much  more  to  go  and  kiss  forgiveness  to 
his  sleeping  wife,  sat  up  all  night,  writing  "  The 
Wreck,"  which  may  be  (as  the  reviewer  in  "  The 
Parthenon "  asserts)  an  exquisite  poem ;  but  I 
cannot  say  that  it  is  of  much  importance. 

So  the  delicate  genius  sat  that  night,  scribbling 
verses  by  a  warm  fire,  and  the  rough  lieutenant 
settled  himself  down  in  his  mackintoshes,  to  sit 
out  those  weary  hours  on  the  bare  rock,  having 
done  all  that  he  could  do,  and  yet  knowing  that 
his  duty  was  not  to  leave  the  place  as  long  as 
there  was  a  chance  of  saving  —  not  a  life,  for  that 


Anything  but  Still  Life  103 

was  past  all  hope  —  but  a  chest  of  clothes  or  a 
stick  of  timber.  There  he  settled  himself,  grum- 
bling yet  faithful;  and  filled  up  the  time  with 
sleepy  maledictions  against  some  old  admiral,  who 
had  —  or  had  not  —  taken  a  spite  to  him  in  the 
West  Indies  thirty  years  before,  else  he  would 
have  been  a  post  captain  by  now,  comfortably  in 
bed  on  board  a  crack  frigate,  instead  of  sitting  all 
night  out  on  a  rock,  like  an  old  cormorant,  etc. 
etc.  Who  knows  not  the  woes  of  ancient  coast- 
guard lieutenants? 

But  as  it  befell,  Elsley  Vavasour  was  justly 
punished  for  going  home,  by  losing  the  most 
"  poetical  "  incident  of  the  whole  night. 

For  with  the  coastguardsmen  many  sailors 
stayed.  There  was  nothing  to  be  earned  by  stay- 
ing :  but  still,  who  knew  but  they  might  be  wanted  ? 
And  they  hung  on  with  the  same  feOTng  which 
tempts  one  to  linger  round  a  grave  ere  the  earth 
is  filled  in,  loth  to  give  up  the  last  sight,  and  with 
it  the  last  hope.  The  ship  herself,  over  and  above 
her  lost  crew,  was  in  their  eyes  a  person  to  be 
loved  and  regretted.  And  Gentleman  Jan  spoke, 
like  a  true  sailor : 

"  Ah,  poor  dear !  And  she  such  a  beauty,  Mr. 
Brown ;  as  any  one  might  see  by  her  lines,  even 
that  way  off.  Ah,  poor  dear  !  " 

"  And  so  many  brave  souls  on  board ;  and, 
perhaps,  some  of  them  not  ready,  Mr.  Beer,"  says 
the  seriously  elderly  chief  boatman.  "Eh,  Cap- 
tain Willis?" 

"The  Lord  has  had  mercy  on  them,  I  don't 
doubt,"  answers  the  old  man,  in  his  quiet  sweet 
voice.  "  One  can't  but  hope  that  He  would  give 
them  time  for  one  prayer  before  all  was  over; 


104  Two  Years  Ago 

and  having  been  drowned  myself,  Mr.  Brown, 
three  times,  and  taken  up  for  dead  —  that  is,  once 
in  Gibraltar  Bay,  and  once  when  I  was  a  total 
wreck  in  the  old  '  Seahorse,'  that  was  in  the  hur- 
ricane in  the  Indies ;  after  that,  when  I  fell  over 
quay-head  here,  fishing  for  bass,  —  why,  I  know 
well  how  quick  the  prayer  will  run  through  a 
man's  heart,  when  he 's  a-drowning,  and  the  light 
of  conscience,  too,  all  one's  life  in  one  minute, 
like " 

"  It  arn't  the  men  I  care  for,"  says  Gentleman 
Jan;  "they're  gone  to  heaven,  like  all  brave 
sailors  do  as  dies  by  wreck  and  battle :  but  the  poor 
dear  ship,  d'ye  see,  Captain  Willis,  she  ha'n't  no 
heaven  to  go  to,  and  that 's  why  I  feel  for  her  so." 

Both  the  old  men  shake  their  heads  at  Jan's 
doctrine,  ^id  turn  the  subject  off. 

"  You  'cPbetter  go  home,  captain,  fear  of  the 
rheumatics.  It 's  a  rough  night  for  your  years ; 
and  you  Ve  no  call,  like  me." 

"  I  would,  but  my  maid  there ;  and  I  can't  get 
her  home;  and  I  can't  leave  her."  And  Willis 
points  to  the  schoolmistress,  who  sits  upon  the 
flat  slope  of  rock,  a  little  apart  from  the  rest,  with 
her  face  resting  on  her  hands,  gazing  intently  out 
into  the  wild  waste. 

"  Make  her  go ;  it 's  her  duty  —  we  all  have  our 
duties.  Why  does  her  mother  let  her  out  at  this 
time  of  night?  I  keep  my  maids  tighter  than  that, 
I  warrant."  And  disciplinarian  Mr.  Brown  makes 
a  step  towards  her. 

"  Ah,  Mr.  Brown,  don't  now !  She 's  not  one  of 
us.  There 's  no  saying  what 's  going  on  there  in 
her.  Maybe  she 's  praying ;  maybe  she  sees  more 
than  we  do,  over  the  sea  there." 


Anything  but  Still  Life  105 

-  "  What  do  you  mean  ?  There  's  no  living  body 
in  those  breakers,  be  sure !  " 

"  There  's  more  living  things  about  on  such  a 
night  than  have  bodies  to  them,  or  than  any  but 
such  as  she  can  see.  If  any  one  ever  talked  with 
angels,  that  maid  does ;  and  I  Ve  heard  her,  too ; 
I  can  say  I  have  —  certain  of  it.  Those  that  like 
may  call  her  an  innocent :  but  I  wish  I  were  such 
an  innocent,  Mr.  Brown.  I  'd  be  nearer  heaven 
then,  here  on  earth,  than  I  fear  sometimes  I  ever 
shall  be,  even  after  I  'm  dead  and  gone." 

"  Well,  she 's  a  good  girl,  mazed  or  not ;  but 
look  at  her  now  !  What 's  she  after?" 

The  girl  had  raised  her  head,  and  was  pointing, 
with  one  arm  stretched  stiffly  out,  toward  the  sea. 

Old  Willis  went  down  to  her,  and  touched  her 
gently  on  the  shoulder. 

"  Come  home,  my  maid,  then,  you  '11  take  cold, 
indeed ;  "  but  she  did  not  move  or  lower  her  arm. 

The  old  man,  accustomed  to  her  fits  of  fixed 
melancholy,  looked  down  under  her  bonnet,  to  see 
whether  she  was  "  past,"  as  he  called  it.  By  the 
moonlight  he  could  see  her  great  eyes  steady  and 
wide  open.  She  motioned  him  away,  half  impa- 
tiently, and  then  sprang  to  her  feet  with  a  scream. 

"  A  man  !     A  man !     Save  him  !  " 

As  she  spoke,  a  huge  wave  rolled  in,  and  shot 
up  the  sloping  end  of  the  point  in  a  broad  sheet 
of  foam.  And  out  of  it  struggled,  on  hands  and 
knees,  a  human  figure.  He  looked  wildly  up,  and 
round,  and  then  his  head  dropped  again  on  his 
breast;  and  he  lay  clinging  with  outspread  arms, 
like  Homer's  polypus  in  the  "  Odyssey,"  as  the  wave 
drained  back,  in  a  thousand  roaring  cataracts,  over 
the  edge  of  the  rock. 


1 06  Two  Years  Ago 

"  Save  him ! "  shrieked  she  again,  as  twenty 
men  rushed  forward  —  and  stopped  short.  The 
man  was  fully  thirty  yards  from  them ;  but  close 
to  him,  between  them  and  him,  stretched  a  long 
ghastly  crack,  some  ten  feet  wide,  cutting  the 
point  across.  All  knew  it:  its  slippery  edge,  its 
polished  upright  sides,  the  seething  caldrons 
within  it ;  and  knew,  too,  that  the  next  wave  would 
boil  up  from  it  in  a  hundred  jets,  and  suck  in  the 
strongest  to  his  doom,  to  fall,  with  brains  dashed 
out,  into  a  chasm  from  which  was  no  return. 

Ere  they  could  nerve  themselves  for  action,  the 
wave  had  come.  Up  the  slope  it  went,  one-half 
of  it  burying  the  wretched  mariner,  and  fell  over 
into  the  chasm.  The  other  half  rushed  up  the 
chasm  itself,  and  spouted  forth  again  to  the  moon- 
light in  columns  of  snow,  in  time  to  meet  the  wave 
from  which  it  had  just  parted,  as  it  fell  from  above ; 
and  then  the  two  boiled  up,  and  round,  and  over, 
and  swirled  along  the  smooth  rock  to  their  very 
feet. 

The  schoolmistress  took  one  long  look ;  and  as 
the  wave  retired,  rushed  after  it  to  the  very  brink 
of  the  chasm,  and  flung  herself  on  her  knees. 

"  She  's  mazed  !  " 

"  No,  she  's  not !  "  almost  screamed  old  Willis,  in 
mingled  pride  and  terror,  as  he  rushed  after  her. 
"  The  wave  has  carried  him  across  the  crack,  and 
she 's  got  him  !  "  And  he  sprang  upon  her,  and 
caught  her  round  the  waist. 

"  Now,  if  you  be  men !  "  shouted  he,  as  the  rest 
hurried  down. 

"  Now,  if  you  be  men ;  before  the  next  wave 
comes  !  "  shouted  big  Jan.  "  Hands  together,  and 
make  a  line ! "  And  he  took  a  grip  with  one 


Anything  but  Still  Life  107 

hand  of  the  old  man's  waistband,  and  held  out  the 
other  for  who  would  to  seize. 

Who  took  it?  Frank  Headley,  the  curate,  who 
had  been  watching  all  sadly  apart,  longing  to  do 
something  which  no  one  could  mistake. 

"Be  you  man  enough?  "  asked  big  Jan,  doubt- 
fully. 

"  Try,"  said  Frank. 

"  Really,  you  ben't,  sir,"  said  Jan,  civilly  enough. 
"  Means  no  offence,  sir ;  your  heart 's  stout  enough, 
I  see;  but  you  don't  know  what  it'll  be."  And  he 
caught  the  hand  of  a  huge  fellow  next  him,  while 
Frank  shrank  sadly  back  into  the  darkness. 

Strong  hand  after  hand  was  clasped,  and  strong 
knee  after  knee  dropped  almost  to  the  rock,  to 
meet  the  coming  rush  of  water ;  and  all  who  knew 
their  business  took  a  long  breath,  —  they  might 
have  need  of  one. 

It  came,  and  surged  over  the  man,  and  the  girl, 
and  up  to  old  Willis's  throat,  and  round  the  knees 
of  Jan  and  his  neighbor;  and  then  followed  the 
returning  out-draught,  and  every  limb  quivered 
with  the  strain ;  but  when  the  cataract  had  disap- 
peared, the  chain  was  still  unbroken. 

"  Saved  !  "  and  a  cheer  broke  from  all  lips,  save 
those  of  the  girl  herself;  she  was  as  senseless  as  he 
whom  she  had  saved.  They  hurried  her  and  him 
up  the  rock  ere  another  wave  could  come ;  but 
they  had  much  ado  to  open  her  hands,  so  firmly 
clenched  together  were  they  round  his  waist. 

Gently  they  lifted  each,  and  laid  them  on  the 
rock;  while  old  Willis,  having  recovered  his 
breath,  set  to  work  crying  like  a  child,  to  restore 
breath  to  "  his  maiden." 

"  Run  for  Dr.   Heale,  some  good  Christian !  " 


io8  Two  Years  Ago 

But  Frank,  longing  to  escape  from  a  company  who 
did  not  love  him,  and  to  be  of  some  use  ere  the 
night  was  out,  was  already  half-way  to  the  village 
on  that  very  errand. 

However,  ere  the  doctor  could  be  stirred  out  of 
his  boozy  slumbers,  and  thrust  into  his  clothes  by 
his  wife,  the  schoolmistress  was  safe  in  bed  at  her 
mother's  house;  and  the  man,  weak,  but  alive, 
carried  triumphantly  up  to  Heale's  door;  which 
having  been  kicked  open,  the  sailors  insisted  in 
carrying  him  right  upstairs,  and  depositing  him  on 
the  best  spare  bed. 

"  If  you  won't  come  to  your  patients,  doctor, 
your  patients  shall  come  to  you.  Why  were  you 
asleep  in  your  liquors,  instead  of  looking  out  for 
poor  wratches,  like  a  Christian  ?  You  see  whether 
his  bones  be  broke,  and  gi'  un  his  medicines 
proper ;  and  then  go  and  see  after  the  schoolmis- 
tress ;  she  'm  worth  a  dozen  of  any  man,  and  a 
thousand  of  you  !  We  '11  pay  for  un  like  men ; 
and  if  you  don't,  we  '11  break  every  bottle  in  your 
shop." 

To  which,  what  between  bodily  fear  and  real 
good-nature,  old  Heale  assented;  and  so  ended 
that  eventful  night. 


CHAPTER  IV 

FLOTSAM,  JETSAM,  AND   LIGAN 

ABOUT  nine  o'clock  the  next  morning,  Gen- 
tleman Jan  strolled  into  Dr.  Heale's  surgery, 
pipe  in  mouth,  with  an  attendant  satellite;  for 
every  lion,  poor  as  well  as  rich,  in  country  as  in 
town,  must  needs  have  his  jackal. 

Heale's  surgery  —  or,  in  plain  English,  shop  — 
was  a  doleful  hole  enough ;  in  such  dirt  and  con- 
fusion as  might  be  expected  from  a  drunken  occu- 
pant, with  a  practice  which  was  only  not  decaying 
because  there  was  no  rival  in  the  field.  But  mo- 
nopoly made  the  old  man,  as  it  makes  most  men, 
all  the  more  lazy  and  careless ;  and  there  was  not 
a  drug  on  his  shelves  which  could  be  warranted  to 
work  the  effect  set  forth  in  that  sanguine  and  too 
trustful  book,  the  "  Pharmacopoeia,"  which,  like 
Mr.  Pecksniffs  England,  expects  every  man  to 
do  his  duty,  and  is,  accordingly  (as  the  "  Lancet " 
and  Dr.  Letheby  know  too  well),  grievously  dis- 
appointed. 

In  this  kennel  of  evil  savors  Heale  was  slowly 
trying  to  poke  things  into  something  like  order ; 
and  dragging  out  a  few  old  drugs  with  a  shaky 
hand,  to  see  if  any  one  would  buy  them,  in  a  vague 
expectation  that  something  must  needs  have  hap- 
pened to  somebody  the  night  before,  which  would 
require  somewhat  of  his  art. 


1 1  o  Two  Years  Ago 

And  he  was  not  disappointed.  Gentleman  Jan, 
without  taking  his  pipe  out  of  his  mouth,  dropped 
his  huge  elbows  on  the  counter,  and  his  black- 
fringed  chin  on  his  fists;  took  a  look  round  the 
shop,  as  if  to  find  something  which  would  suit 
him;  and  then: 

"  I  say,  doctor,  gi'  's  some  tackleum." 

"  Some  diachylum  plaster,  Mr.  Beer?  "  says 
Heale,  meekly.  "What  for,  then?" 

"  To  tackle  my  shins.  I  barked  'em  cruel 
against  King  Arthur's  nose  last  night.  Hard  in 
the  bone  he  is ;  —  wish  I  was  as  hard." 

"  How  much  diachylum  will  you  want,  then,  Mr. 
Beer?" 

"Well,  I  don't  know.  Let's  see!"  and  Jan 
pulls  up  his  blue  trousers,  and  pulls  down  his  gray 
rig  and  furrows,  and  considers  his  broad  and 
shaggy  shins. 

"  Matter  of  four  pennies  broad ;  two  to  each 
leg ;  "  and  then  replaces  his  elbows,  and  smokes 
on. 

"  I  say,  doctor,  that  'ere  curate  came  out  well 
last  night.  I  shall  go  to  church  next  Sunday." 

"  What,"  asks  the  satellite,  "  after  you  upset  he 
that  fashion  yesterday?  " 

"  I  don't  care  what  you  thinks,"  says  Jan,  who, 
of  course,  bullies  his  jackal  like  most  lions ;  "  but  I 
goes  to  church.  He's  a  good  un,  say  I,  —  little 
and  good,  like  a  Welshman's  cow ;  and  clapped 
me  on  the  back  when  we  'd  got  the  man  and  the 
maid  safe,  and  says,  —  *  Well  done  our  side,  old 
fellow !  '  and  stands  something  hot  all  round, 
what 's  more,  in  at  the  Mariner's  Rest.  —  I  say, 
doctor,  where  's  he  as  we  hauled  ashore?  I'll  go 
up  and  see  un." 


Flotsam,  Jetsam,  and  Ligan       in 

"Not  now,  then,  Mr.  Beer;  not  now,  then. 
He 's  sleeping,  indeed  he  is,  like  any  child." 

"  So  much  the  better.  We  vvain't  be  bothered 
with  his  hollering.  But  go  up  I  will.  Do  ye  let 
me  now ;  I  '11  be  as  still  as  a  maid." 

And  Jan  kicked  off  his  shoes,  and  marched  on 
tiptoe  through  the  shop,  while  Dr.  Heale,  moaning 
professional  ejaculations,  showed  him  the  way. 

The  shipwrecked  man  was  sleeping  sweetly ;  and 
little  was  to  be  seen  of  his  face,  so  covered  was  it 
with  dark  tangled  curls  and  thick  beard. 

"  Ah !  a  'Stralian  digger,  by  the  beard  of  him, 
and  his  red  jersey,"  whispered  Jan,  as  he  bent 
tenderly  over  the  poor  fellow,  and  put  his  head  on 
one  side  to  listen  to  his  breathing.  "  Beautiful  he 
sleeps,  to  be  sure !  "  said  Jan ;  "  and  a  tidy-look- 
ing chap,  too.  Tis  a  pity  to  wake  un,  poor 
wratch ;  and  he,  perhaps,  with  a  sweetheart  aboard, 
and  drownded;  or  else  all  his  kit  lost.  Let  un 
sleep  so  long  as  he  can :  he  '11  find  all  out  soon 
enough,  God  help  him  !  " 

And  big  Jan  stole  down  the  stairs  gently  and 
reverently,  like  a  true  sailor;  and  took  his  diach- 
ylum, and  went  off  to  plaster  his  shins. 

About  ten  minutes  afterwards,  Heale  was  made 
aware  that  his  guest  was  awake  by  sundry  grunts  and 
ejaculations,  which  ended  in  a  series  of  long  and 
doleful  whistles,  and  then  broke  out  into  a  song. 
So  he  went  up,  and  found  the  stranger  sitting  up- 
right in  bed,  combing  his  curls  with  his  fingers 
and  chanting  unto  himself  a  cheerful  ditty. 

"Good  morning,  doctor,"  quoth  he,  as  his  host 
entered.  "Very  kind  of  you,  this.  Hope  I 
have  n't  turned  a  better  man  than  myself  out  of 
his  bed." 


112  Two  Years  Ago 

"Delighted  to  see  you  so  well.  Very  near 
drowned,  .though.  We  were  pumping  at  your 
lungs  for  a  full  half  hour." 

"Ah?  nothing,  though,  for  an  experienced  pro- 
fessional man  like  you  !  " 

"  Hum !  speaks  well  for  your  discrimination," 
says  Heale,  flattered.  "Very  well-spoken  young 
person,  though  his  beard  is  a  bit  wild.  How  did 
you  know,  then,  that  I  was  a  doctor  ?  " 

"  By  the  reverend  looks  of  you,  sir.  Besides,  I 
smelt  the  rhubarb  and  senna  all  the  way  upstairs, 
and  knew  that  I  'd  fallen  among  professional 
brethren : 

**'  Oh,  then  this  valiant  mariner, 

Which  sailed  across  the  sea, 
• •  He  came  home  to  his  own  sweetheart, 

With  his  heart  so  full  of  glee ; 

44  *  With  his  heart  so  full  of  glee,  sir, 

And  his  pockets  full  of  gold, 
And  his  bag  of  drugget,  with  many  a  nugget, 
As  heavy  as  he  could  hold,' 

Don't  you  wish  yours  was,  doctor?" 

"  Eh,  eh,  eh,"  sniggered  Heale. 

"  Mine  was  last  night  Now,  doctor,  let 's  have 
a  glass  of  brandy-and-water,  hot  with,  and  an  hour's 
more  sleep ;  and  then  kick  me  out,  and  into  the 
workhouse.  Was  anybody  else  saved  from  the 
wreck  last  night?" 

"  Nobody,  sir,"  said  Heale ;  and  said  "  sir,"  be- 
cause, in  spite  of  the  stranger's  rough  looks,  his 
accent,  —  or  rather,  his  no-accent  —  showed  him 
that  he  had  fallen  in  with  a  very  different,  and 
probably  a  very  superior  stamp  of  man  to  himself; 
in  the  light  of  which  conviction  (and  being  withal 


Flotsam,  Jetsam,  and  Ligan       113 

a  good-natured  old  soul),  he  went  down  and  mixed 
him  a  stiff  glass  of  brandy-and-water,  answering  his 
wife's  remonstrances  by : 

"  The  party  upstairs  is  a  bit  of  a  frantic  party, 
certainly;  but  he  is  certainly  a  very  superior  party, 
and  has  the  true  gentleman  about  him,  any  one 
can  see.  Besides,  he 's  shipwrecked,  as  you  and  I 
may  be  any  day;  and  what's  like  brandy-and- 
water?" 

"  I  should  like  to  know  when  I  'm  like  to  be  ship- 
wrecked, or  you  either ;  "  says  Mrs.  Heale,  in  a 
tone  slightly  savoring  of  indignation  and  con- 
tempt. "  You  think  of  nothing  but  brandy-and- 
water."  But  she  let  the  doctor  take  the  glass 
upstairs,  nevertheless. 

A  few  minutes  afterwards,  Frank  came  in,  and 
inquired  for  the  shipwrecked  man. 

"Well  enough  in  body,  sir;  and  rather  requires 
your  skill  than  mine,"  said  the  old  time-server. 
"Won't  you  walk  up?" 

So  up  Frank  was  shown. 

The  stranger  was  sitting  up  in  bed.  "  Capital 
your  brandy  is,  doctor.  —  Ah,  sir,"  seeing  Frank, 
"  it  is  very  kind  of  you,  I  am  sure,  to  call  on  me ! 
I  presume  you  are  the  clergyman  ?  " 

But  before  Frank  could  answer,  Heale  had 
broken  forth  into  loud  praises  of  him,  setting  forth 
how  the  stranger  owed  his  life  entirely  to  his  super- 
human strength  and  courage. 

"  Ton  my  word,  sir,"  said  the  stranger,  looking 
them  both  over  and  over,  through  and  through,  as 
if  to  settle  how  much  of  all  this  he  was  to  believe, 
"  I  am  deeply  indebted  to  you  for  your  gallantry.  I 
only  wish  it  had  been  employed  on  a  better  sub- 
ject." 


H4  Two  Years  Ago 

"  My  good  sir,"  said  Frank,  blushing,  "  you  owe 
your  life  not  to  me.  I  would  have  helped  if  I 
could ;  but  was  not  thought  worthy  by  our  sons  of 
Anak  here.  Your  actual  preserver  was  a  young  girl." 

And  Frank  told  him  the  story. 

"  Whew !  I  hope  she  won't  expect  me  to  marry 
her  as  payment.  Handsome  ?  " 

"  Beautiful,"  said  Frank. 

"Money?" 

"  The  village  schoolmistress.** 

"Clever?" 

"A  sort  of  half-baked  body,"  said  Heale. 

"  A  very  puzzling  intellect,"  said  Frank. 

"  Ah  —  well  —  that 's  a  fair  excuse  for  declin- 
ing the  honor.  I  can't  be  expected  to  marry  a 
frantic  party,  as  you  called  me  downstairs  just 
now,  doctor." 

"I,  sir?" 

"Yes,  I  heard;  no  offence,  though,  my  good 
sir,  but  I  Ve  the  ears  of  a  fox.  I  hope  really, 
though,  that  she  is  none  the  worse  for  her  heroic 
flights." 

"  How  is  she  this  morning,  Mr.  Heale?  " 

"Well  —  poor  thing,  a  little  light-headed  last 
night:  but  kindly  when  I  went  in  last." 

"  Whew !  I  hope  she  has  not  fallen  in  love  with 
me.  She  may  fancy  me  her  property  —  a  private 
waif  and  stray.  Better  send  for  the  coastguard 
officer,  and  let  him  claim  me  as  belonging  to  the 
Admiralty,  as  flotsam,  jetsam,  and  ligan ;  for  I  was 
all  three  last  night." 

"  You  were  indeed,  sir,"  said  Frank,  who  began 
to  be  a  little  tired  of  this  levity ;  "  and  very  thank- 
ful to  Heaven  you  ought  to  be." 

Frank  spake  this  m  a  somewhat  professional  tone 


Flotsam,  Jetsam,  and  Ligan       115 

of  voice ;  at  which  the  stranger  arched  his  eyebrows, 
screwed  his  lips  up,  and  laid  his  ears  back,  like  a 
horse  when  he  meditates  a  kick. 

"  You  must  be  better  acquainted  with  my  affairs 
than  I  am,  my  dear  sir,  if  you  are  able  to  state  that 
fact.  Doctor !  I  hear  a  patient  coming  into  the 
surgery." 

"  Extraordinary  power  of  hearing,  to  be  sure," 
said  Heale,  toddling  downstairs,  while  the  stranger 
went  on,  looking  Frank  full  in  the  face. 

"  Now  that  old  fogy 's  gone  downstairs,  my  dear 
sir,  let  us  come  to  an  understanding  at  the  begin- 
ning of  our  acquaintance.  Of  course,  you're 
bound  by  your  cloth  to  say  that  sort  of  thing  to 
me,  just  as  I  am  bound  by  it  not  to  swear  in  your 
company :  but  you  '11  allow  me  to  remark,  that  it 
would  be  rather  trying  even  to  your  faith,  if  you 
were  to  be  thrown  ashore  with  nothing  in  the 
world  but  an  old  jersey  and  a  bag  of  tobacco, 
two  hundred  miles  short  of  the  port  where  you 
hoped  to  land  with  fifteen  hundred  well-earned 
pounds  in  your  pocket." 

"  My  dear  sir,"  said  Frank,  after  a  pause,  "  what- 
soever comes  from  our  Father's  hand  must  be 
meant  in  love.  '  The  Lord  gave,  and  the  Lord 
hath  taken  away.'" 

A  quaint  wince  passed  over  the  stranger's  face. 

"Father,  sir?  That  fifteen  hundred  pounds  was 
going  to  my  father's  hand,  from  whosesoever  hand 
it  came,  or  the  loss  of  it.  And  now  what  is  to 
become  of  the  poor  old  man,  that  hussy  Dame 
Fortune  only  knows  —  if  she  knows  her  own  mind 
an  hour  together,  which  1  very  much  doubt.  I 
worked  early  and  late  for  that  money,  sir ;  up  to 
my  knees  in  mud  and  water.  Let  it  be  enough  for 

Vol.  10— F 


1 1 6  Two  Years  Ago 

your  lofty  demands  on  poor  humanity, that  I  take  my 
loss  like  a  man,  with  a  whistle  and  a  laugh,  instead 
of  howling  and  cursing  over  it  like  a  baboon. 
Let's  talk  of  something  else;  and  lend  me  five 
pounds  and  a  suit  of  clothes.  I  sha'n't  run  away 
with  them,  for  as  I  Ve  been  thrown  ashore  here, 
here  I  shall  stay." 

Frank  almost  laughed  at  the  free  and  easy 
request,  though  he  felt  at  once  pained  by  the 
man's  irreligion,  and  abashed  by  his  stoicism ;  — 
would  he  have  behaved  even  as  well  in  such  a  case? 

"  I  have  not  five  pounds  in  the  world." 

"  Good  !  we  shall  understand  each  other  better." 

"  But  the  suit  of  clothes  you  shall  have  at 
once." 

"Good  again!  Let  it  be  your  oldest;  for  I 
must  do  a  little  rock-scrambling  here,  for  purposes 
of  my  own." 

So  off  went  Frank  to  fetch  the  clothes,  puzzling 
over  his  new  parishioner.  The  man  was  not 
altogether  well  bred,  either  in  voice  or  manner; 
but  there  was  an  ease,  a  confidence,  a  sense  of 
power,  which  made  Frank  feel  that  he  had  fallen 
in  with  a  very  strong  nature ;  and  one  which  had 
seen  many  men,  and  many  lands,  and  profited  by 
what  it  had  seen. 

When  he  returned,  he  found  the  stranger  busy 
at  his  ablutions,  and  gradually  appearing  as  a 
somewhat  dapper,  handsome  fellow,  with  a  bright 
gray  eye,  a  short  nose,  a  firm,  small  mouth,  a 
broad  and  upright  forehead,  across  the  left  side  of 
which  ran  a  fearful  scar. 

"  That 's  a  shrewd  mark,"  said  he,  as  he  caught 
Frank's  eye  fixed  on  it,  while  he  sat  coolly  arrang- 
ing himself  on  the  bedside.  "  I  got  it  in  fair  fight, 


Flotsam,  Jetsam,  and  Ligan       117 

though,  by  a  Crow's  tomahawk  in  the  Rocky 
Mountains.  And  here's  another  token"  (lifting 
up  his  black  curls),  "  which  a  Greek  robber  gave 
me  in  the  Morea.  I  Ve  another  under  my  head,  for 
which  I  have  to  thank  a  Tartar,  and  one  or  two 
more  little  remembrances  of  flood  and  field  up  and 
down  me.  Perhaps  they  may  explain  to  you  why 
I  take  life  and  death  so  coolly.  I  Ve  looked  too 
often  at  the  little  razor-bridge  which  parts  them, 
to  care  much  for  either.  Now,  don't  let  me 
trouble  you  any  longer.  You  have  your  flock  to 
see  to,  I  don't  doubt.  You'll  find  me  at  church 
on  Sunday.  I  always  do  at  Rome  as  Rome  does." 

"Then  you  will  stay  away,"  said  Frank,  with  a 
sad  smile. 

"  Ah?  No.  Church  is  respectable  and  aristo- 
cratic; and  there  one  don't  get  sent  to  a  place 
unmentionable,  ten  times  an  hour,  by  some  in- 
spired tinker.  Beside,  country  people  like  the 
doctor  to  go  to  church  with  their  betters ;  and  the 
very  fellows  who  go  to  the  Methodist  meeting 
themselves  would  think  it  infra  dig.  in  me  to  walk 
in  there.  Now,  good-bye  —  though  I  have  n't 
introduced  myself — not  knowing  the  name  of  my 
kind  preserver." 

"  My  name  is  Frank  Headley,  curate  of  the 
parish,"  said  Frank,  smiling:  though  he  saw  the 
man  was  rattling  on  for  the  purpose  of  preventing 
his  talking  on  serious  matters. 

"And  mine  is  Tom  Thurnall,  F.R.C.S.,  Licen- 
tiate of  the  Universities  of  Paris,  Glasgow,  and 
whilom  surgeon  of  the  good  clipper  '  Hesperus,' 
which  you  saw  wrecked  last  night.  So,  farewell !  " 

"  Come  over  with  me,  and  have  some  break- 
fast." 


1 1 8  Two  Years  Ago 

"  No,  thanks ;  you  '11  be  busy.  I  '11  screw  some 
out  of  old  bottles  here." 

"  And  now,"  said  Tom  Thurnall  to  himself,  as 
Frank  left  the  room,  "  to  begin  life  again  with  an 
old  pen-knife  and  a  pound  of  honeydew.  I  won- 
der which  of  them  got  my  girdle.  I  '11  stick  here 
till  I  find  out  that  one  thing,  and  stop  the  notes  by 
to-day's  post  if  I  can  but  recollect  them  all ;  —  if  I 
could  but  stop  the  nugget,  too !  " 

So  saying,  he  walked  down  into  the  surgery,  and 
looked  round.  Everything  was  in  confusion. 
Cobwebs  were  over  the  bottles,  and  armies  of 
mites  played  at  bo-peep  behind  them.  He  tried 
a  few  drawers,  and  found  that  they  stuck  fast; 
and  when  he  at  last  opened  one,  its  contents 
were  two  old  dried-up  horse-balls  and  a  dirty 
tobacco-pipe.  He  took  down  a  jar  marked  Epsom 
salts,  and  found  it  full  of  Welsh  snuff;  the  next, 
which  was  labelled  cinnamon,  contained  blue  vit- 
riol. The  spatula  and  pill-roller  were  crusted  with 
deposits  of  every  hue.  The  pill-box  drawer  had 
not  a  dozen  whole  boxes  in  it;  and  the  counter 
was  a  quarter  of  an  inch  deep  in  deposit  of  every 
vegetable  and  mineral  matter,  including  ends  of 
string,  tobacco  ashes,  and  broken  glass. 

Tom  took  up  a  dirty  duster,  and  set  to  work 
coolly  to  clear  up,  whistling  away  so  merrily  that 
he  brought  in  Heale. 

"  I  'm  doing  a  little  in  the  way  of  business,  you 
see." 

"  Then  you  really  are  a  professional  practitioner, 
sir,  as  Mr.  Headley  informs  me :  though,  of  course, 
I  don't  doubt  the  fact?"  said  Heale,  summoning 
up  all  the  little  courage  he  had  to  ask  the  question 
with. 


Flotsam,  Jetsam,  and  Ligan       119 

**  F.R.C.S.  London,  Paris,  and  Glasgow.  Easy 
enough  to  write  and  ascertain  the  fact.  Have  been 
medical  officer  to  a  poor-law  union,  and  to  a  Bra- 
zilian man-of-war.  Have  seen  three  choleras,  two 
army  fevers,  and  yellow-jack  without  end.  Have 
doctored  gunshot  wounds  in  the  two  Texan  wars, 
in  one  Paris  revolution,  and  in  the  Schleswig- 
Holstein  row;  beside  accident  practice  in  every 
country  from  California  to  China,  and  round  the 
world  and  back  again.  There  's  a  fine  nest  of  Mr. 
Weekes*  friend  (if  not  creation),  Acarus  Horridus," 
and  Tom  went  on  dusting  and  arranging. 

Heale  had  been  fairly  taken  aback  by  the  im- 
posing list  of  acquirements,  and  looked  at  his  guest 
awhile  with  considerable  awe :  suddenly  a  suspi- 
cion flashed  across  him,  which  caused  him  (not 
unseen  by  Tom)  a  start  and  a  look  of  self-con- 
gratulatory wisdom.  He  next  darted  out  of  the 
shop,  and  returned  as  rapidly,  rather  redder  about 
the  eyes,  and  wiping  his  mouth  with  the  back  of 
his  hand. 

"  But,  sir,  though,  though  "  —  began  he  —  "  but, 
of  course,  you  will  allow  me,  being  a  stranger  — 
and  as  a  man  of  business  —  all  I  have  to  say  is, 
if —  that  is  to  say " 

"  You  want  to  know  why,  if  I  Ve  had  all  these 
good  businesses,  why  I  have  n't  kept  them?  " 

"  Ex-actly,"   stammered    Heale,  much  relieved. 

"A  very  sensible  and  business-like  question: 
but  you  need  n  't  have  been  so  delicate  about  ask- 
ing it  as  to  want  a  screw  before  beginning." 

"  Ah,  you  're  a  wag,  sir,"  keckled  the  old  man. 

"  I  '11  tell  you  frankly ;  I  have  an  old  father,  sir, 
—  a  gentleman,  and  a  scholar,  and  a  man  of 
science;  once  in  as  good  a  country  practice  as 


I2O  Two  Years  Ago 

man  could  have,  till,  God  help  him,  he  went  blind, 
sir,  and  I  had  to  keep  him,  and  have  still.  I  went 
over  the  world  to  make  my  fortune,  and  never  made 
it;  and  sent  him  home  what  I  did  make,  and  little 
enough  too.  At  last,  in  my  despair,  I  went  to  the 
diggings,  and  had  a  pretty  haul  —  I  need  n't  say 
how  much.  That  matters  little  now ;  for  I  suppose 
it 's  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea.  There  's  my  story, 
sir,  and  a  poor  one  enough  it  is, — for  the  dear  old 
man,  at  least."  And  Tom's  voice  trembled  so  as 
he  told  it,  that  old  Heale  believed  every  word,  and 
what  is  more,  being  —  like  most  hard  drinkers  — 
not  "  unused  to  the  melting  mood,"  wiped  his  eyes 
fervently,  and  went  off  for  another  drop  of  comfort ; 
while  Tom  dusted  and  arranged  on,  till  the  shop 
began  to  look  quite  smart  and  business-like. 

"  Now,  sir !  "  —  when  the  old  man  came  back  — 
"business  is  business,  and  beggars  must  not  be 
choosers.  I  don't  want  to  meddle  with  your  prac- 
tice ;  I  know  the  rules  of  the  profession :  but  if 
you  '11  let  me  sit  here,  and  mix  your  medicines  for 
you,  you  '11  have  the  more  time  to  visit  your 
patients,  that's  clear,"  —  and,  perhaps  (thought 
he),  to  drink  your  brandy-and-water,  —  "  and  when 
any  of  them  are  poisoned  by  me,  it  will  be  time  to 
kick  me  out.  All  I  ask  is,  bed  and  board.  Don't 
be  frightened  for  your  spirit-bottle  —  I  can  drink 
water ;  I  Ve  done  it  many  a  time  for  a  week  to- 
gether in  the  prairies,  and  been  thankful  for  a  half- 
pint  in  the  day." 

"  But,  sir,  your  dignity  as  a " 

"  Fiddlesticks  for  dignity ;  I  must  live,  sir.  Only 
lend  me  a  couple  of  sheets  of  paper  and  two 
queen's  heads,  that  I  may  tell  my  friends  my 
whereabouts,  —  and  go  and  talk  it  over  with  Mrs, 


Flotsam,  Jetsam,  and  Ligan       121 

Heale.  We  must  never  act  without  consulting  the 
ladies." 

That  day  Tom  sent  off  the  following  epistle : 

"  To  CHARLES  SHUTKR,  Esq.,  M.D.,  St.  MumpsimuJ  Hospital^ 
London. 

"  DEAR  CHARLEY,  — 

" '  I  do  adjure  thee,  by  old  pleasant  days, 

Quartier  Latin,  and  neatly-shod  grisettes, 
By  all  our  wanderings  in  quaint  by-ways, 
By  ancient  frolics,  and  by  ancient  debts,' 

go  to  the  United  Bank  of  Australia  forthwith,  and  stop 
the  notes  whose  numbers  —  all,  alas  !  which  I  can  re- 
collect —  are  enclosed.  Next,  lend  me  five  pounds. 
Next,  send  me  down,  as  quick  as  possible,  five  pounds' 
worth  of  decent  drugs,  as  per  list ;  and  —  if  you  can  bor- 
row me  one  —  a  tolerable  microscope,  and  a  few  natural 
history  books,  to  astound  the  yokels  here  with:  for  I 
was  shipwrecked  here  last  night,  after  all,  at  a  dirty  little 
West-country  port,  and  what 's  worse,  robbed  of  all  I  had 
made  at  the  diggings,  and  start  fair,  once  more,  to  run 
against  cruel  Dame  Fortune,  as  Colson  did  against  the 
Indians,  without  a  shirt  to  my  back.  Don't  be  a  hos- 
pitable fellow,  and  ask  me  to  come  up  and  camp  with 
you.  Mumpsimus  and  all  old  faces  would  be  a  great 
temptation :  but  here  I  must  stick  till  I  hear  of  my 
money,  and  physic  the  natives  for  my  daily  bread." 

To  his  father  he  wrote  thus,  not  having  the  heart 
to  tell  the  truth : 

"  To  EDWARD  THURNALL,  Esq.,  M.D.,  Whitbury. 

"  MY  DEAREST  OLD  FATHER,  —  I  hope  to  see  you  again 
in  a  few  weeks,  as  soon  as  I  have  settled  a  little  business 
here,  where  I  have  found  a  capital  opening  for  a  medical 
man.  Meanwhile  let  Mark  or  Mary  write  and  tell  me 
how  you  are ;  and  for  sending  you  every  penny  I  can 


122  Two  Years  Ago 

spare,  trust  me.  I  have  not  had  all  the  luck  I  expected  j 
but  am  as  hearty  as  a  bull,  and  as  merry  as  a  cricket, 
and  fall  on  my  legs,  as  of  old,  like  a  cat.  I  long  to  come 
to  you ;  but  I  must  n't  yet.  It  is  near  three  years  since 
I  had  a  sight  of  that  blessed  white  head,  which  is  the 
only  thing  I  care  for  under  the  sun,  except  Mark  and 
little  Mary  —  big  Mary  I  suppose  she  is  now,  and  en- 
gaged to  be  married  to  some  '  bloated  aristocrat.'  Best 
remembrances  to  old  Mark  Armsworth.  —  Your  affec- 
tionate son,  T.  T." 

"  Mr.  Heale,"  said  Tom  next,  "  are  we  Whigs  or 
Tories  here  ?  " 

"Why  —  ahem,  sir,  my  Lord  Scoutbush,  who 
owns  most  hereabouts,  and  my  Lord  Minchamp- 
stead,  who  has  bought  Carcarrow  moors  above, — 
very  old  Whig  connections,  both  of  them ;  but  Mr. 
Trebooze,  of  Trebooze,  he,  again,  thorough-going 
Tory  —  very  good  patient  he  was  once,  and  may  be 
again  —  ha !  ha !  Gay  young  man,  sir  —  careless  of 
his  health ;  so  you  see  as  a  medical  man,  sir " 

"Which  is  the  liberal  paper?  This  one?  Very 
good."  And  Tom  wrote  off  to  the  liberal  paper 
that  evening  a  letter,  which  bore  fruit  ere  the 
week's  end,  in  the  shape  of  five  columns,  headed 
thus: 

"WRECK  OF  THE  'HESPERUS.' 

"  The  following  detailed  account  of  this  lament- 
able catastrophe  has  been  kindly  contributed  by 
the  graphic  pen  of  the  only  survivor,  Thomas 
Thurnall,  Esquire,  F.R.C.S.,  etc.  etc.  etc.,  late  sur- 
geon on  board  the  ill-fated  vessel."  Which  five 
columns  not  only  put  a  couple  of  guineas  into 
Tom's  pocket,  but,  as  he  intended  they  should, 


Flotsam,  Jetsam,  and  Ligan        123 

brought  him  before  the  public  as  an  interesting 
personage,  and  served  as  a  very  good  advertise- 
ment to  the  practice  which  Tom  had  already 
established  in  fancy. 

Tom  had  not  worked  long,  however,  before  the 
coastguard  lieutenant  bustled  in.  He  had  trotted 
home  to  shave  and  get  his  breakfast,  and  was 
trotting  back  again  to  the  shore. 

"  Hillo,  Heale !  can  I  see  the  fellow  who  was 
saved  last  night?" 

"  I  am  that  fellow,"  says  Tom. 

"  The  dickens  you  are  !  you  seem  to  have  fallen 
on  your  legs  quickly  enough." 

"  It 's  a  trick  I  've  had  occasion  to  learn, 
sir,"  says  Tom.  "  Can  I  prescribe  for  you  this 
morning?" 

"  Medicine  ? "  roars  the  lieutenant,  laughing. 
"  Catch  me  at  it !  No ;  I  want  you  to  come  down 
to  the  shore,  and  help  to  identify  goods  and 
things.  The  wind  has  chopped  up  north,  and  is 
blowing  dead  on;  and,  with  this  tide,  we  shall 
have  a  good  deal  on  shore.  So,  if  you  're  strong 
enough " 

"I'm  always  strong  enough  to  do  my  duty," 
said  Tom. 

"Hum!  Very  good  sentiment,  young  man. 
Always  strong  enough  for  duty.  Hum !  worthy 
of  Nelson;  said  pretty  much  the  same,  didn't  he? 
something  about  duty  I  know  it  was,  and  always 
thought  it  uncommon  fine.  Now,  then,  what  can 
you  tell  me  about  this  business?" 

It  was  a  sad  story ;  but  no  sadder  than  hundreds 
besides.  They  had  been  struck  by  the  gale  to  the 
westward  two  days  before,  with  the  wind  south; 
had  lost  their  foretopmast  and  boltsprit,  and  be- 


124  Two  Years  Ago 

come  all  but  unmanageable;  had  tried  during  a 
lull  to  rig  a  jury-mast,  but  were  prevented  by  the 
gale,  which  burst  on  them  with  fresh  fury  from  the 
southwest,  with  very  heavy  rain  and  fog;  had 
passed  a  light  in  the  night,  which  they  took  for 
Scilly,  but  which  must  have  been  the  Longships ; 
had  still  fancied  that  they  were  safe,  running  up 
Channel  with  a  wide  berth,  when,  about  sunset, 
the  gale  had  chopped  again  to  northwest ;  —  and 
Tom  knew  no  more.  "  I  was  standing  on  the 
poop  with  the  captain  about  ten  o'clock.  The 
last  words  he  said  to  me  were,  '  If  this  lasts, 
we  shall  see  Brest  harbor  to-morrow,'  when  she 
struck,  and  stopped  dead.  I  was  chucked  clean 
off  the  poop,  and  nearly  overboard ;  but  brought 
up  in  mizzen  rigging.  Where  the  captain  went, 
poor  fellow,  Heaven  alone  knows ;  for  I  never  saw 
him  after.  The  mainmast  went  like  a  carrot.  The 
mizzen  stood.  I  ran  round  to  the  cabin-doors. 
There  were  four  men  steering;  the  wheel  had 
broke  out  of  the  poor  fellows'  hands,  and  knocked 
them  over,  —  broken  their  limbs,  I  believe.  I  was 
stooping  to  pick  them  up,  when  a  sea  came  into 
the  waist,  and  then  aft,  washing  me  in  through  the 
saloon-doors,  among  the  poor  half-dressed  women 
and  children.  Queer  sight,  lieutenant !  I  Ve  seen 
a  good  many,  but  never  worse  than  that.  I  bolted 
to  my  cabin,  tied  my  notes  and  gold  round  me, 
and  out  again." 

"  Did  n't  desert  the  poor  things?  " 

"  Could  n't  if  I  'd  tried ;  they  clung  to  me  like  a 
swarm  of  bees.  'Gad,  sir,  that  was  hard  lines  !  to 
have  all  the  pretty  women  one  had  waltzed  with 
every  evening  through  the  Trades,  and  the  little 
children  one  had  been  making  playthings  for, 


Flotsam,  Jetsam,  and  Ligan       125 

holding  round  one's  knees,  and  screaming  to  the 
doctor  to  save  them.  And  how  the  .  .  .  was  I 
to  save  them,  sir?"  cried  Tom,  with  a  sudden 
burst  of  feeling,  which,  as  in  so  many  Englishmen, 
exploded  in  anger  to  avoid  melting  in  tears. 

"  Ought  to  be  a  law  against  it,  sir,"  growled 
the  lieutenant.;  "  against  women-folk  and  children 
going  to  sea.  It 's  murder  and  cruelty.  I  Ve 
been  wrecked,  scores  of  times ;  but  it  was  with 
honest  men,  who  could  shift  for  themselves, 
and  if  they  were  drowned,  drowned ;  but  did  n't 
screech  and  catch  hold  —  I  could  n't  stand  that ! 
Well?" 

"Well,  there  was  a  pretty  little  creature,  an 
officer's  widow,  and  two  children.  I  caught  her 
under  one  arm,  and  one  of  the  children  under  the 
other ;  said,  '  I  can't  take  you  all  at  once ;  I  '11 
come  back  for  the  rest,  one  by  one.'  Not  that 
I  believed  it;  but  anything  to  stop  the  scream- 
ing; and  I  did  hope  to  put  some  of  them  out 
of  the  reach  of  the  sea,  if  I  could  get  them  for- 
ward. I  knew  the  forecastle  was  dry,  for  the 
chief  officer  was  firing  there.  You  heard  him?" 

"  Yes,  five  or  six  times ;  and  then  he  stopped 
suddenly." 

"He  had  reason.  —  We  got  out.  I  could  see 
her  nose  up  in  the  air  forty  feet  above  us,  covered 
with  fore-cabin  passengers.  I  warped  the  lady  and 
the  children  upward  —  Heaven  knows  how,  for  the 
sea  was  breaking  over  us  very  sharp  —  till  we  were 
at  the  mainmast  stump,  and  holding  on  by  the 
wreck  of  it.  I  felt  the  ship  sta0ger  as  if  a  whale 
had  struck  her,  and  heard  a  roar  and  a  swish 
behind  me,  and  looked  back  just  in  time  to  see 
mizzen,  and  poop,  and  all  the  poor  women  and 


126  Two  Years  Ago 

children  in  it,  go  bodily,  as  if  they  had  been  shaved 
off  with  a  knife.  I  suppose  that  altered  her  bal- 
ance ;  for  before  I  could  turn  again  she  dived  for- 
ward, and  then  rolled  over  upon  her  beam  ends 
to  leeward;  and  I  saw  the  sea  walk  in  over  her 
from  stem  to  stern  like  one  white  wall,  and  I  was 
washed  from  my  hold,  and  it  was  all  over." 

"  What  became  of  the  lady?  " 

"  I  saw  a  white  thing  flash  by  to  leeward ;  what 's 
the  use  of  asking?  " 

"But  the  child  you  held?" 

"  I  did  n't  let  it  go  till  there  was  good  reason." 

"Eh!" 

Tom  tapped  the  points  of  his  fingers  smartly 
against  the  side  of  his  head,  and  then  he  went  on, 
in  the  same  cynical  drawl,  which  he  had  affected 
throughout : 

"  I  heard  that  —  against  a  piece  of  timber  as  we 
went  overboard.  And,  as  a  medical  man,  I  con- 
sidered after  that,  that  I  had  done  my  duty. 
Pretty  little  boy  it  was,  just  six  years  old;  and 
such  a  fancy  for  drawing." 

The  lieutenant  was  quite  puzzled  by  Tom's  seem- 
ing nonchalance. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  sir?  Did  you  leave  the 
child  to  perish?" 

"  Confound  you,  sir !  If  you  will  have  plain 
English,  here  it  is.  I  tell  you  I  heard  the  child's 
skull  crack  like  an  egg-shell !  There,  let 's  talk  no 
more  about  it,  or  the  whole  matter.  It 's  a  bad 
business,  and  I  'm  not  answerable  for  it,  or  you 
either ;  so  let 's  go  and  do  what  we  are  answerable 
for,  and  identify " 

"  Sir !  you  will  be  so  good  as  to  recollect,"  said 
the  lieutenant,  with  ruffled  plumes. 


Flotsam,  Jetsam,  and  Ligan       127 

0  I  do ;  I  do !  I  beg  your  pardon  a  thousand 
times,  I  'm  sure,  for  being  so  rude ;  but  you  know 
as  well  as  I,  sir,  there  are  a  good  many  things  in 
the  world  which  won't  stand  too  much  thinking 
over;  and  last  night  was  one." 

"  Very  true,  very  true ;  but  how  did  you  get 
ashore  ?  " 

"  I  get  ashore?     Oh,  well  enough !     Why  not?" 

"  'Gad,  sir,  you  were  near  enough  being  drowned 
at  last;  only  that  girl's  pluck  saved  you." 

"  Well ;  but  it  did  save  me ;  and  here  I  am,  as  I 
knew  I  should  be  when  I  first  struck  out  from  the 
ship." 

"  Knew !  that  is  a  bold  word  for  mortal  man  at 
sea." 

"  I  suppose  it  is ;  but  we  doctors,  you  see,  get 
into  the  way  of  looking  at  things  as  men  of 
science ;  and  the  ground  of  science  is  experience ; 
and,  to  judge  from  experience,  it  takes  more  to 
kill  me  than  I  have  yet  met  with.  If  I  had  been 
going  to  be  snuffed  out,  it  would  have  happened 
long  ago." 

"Hum!  It's  well  to  carry  a  cheerful  heart; 
but  the  pitcher  goes  often  to  the  well,  and  comes 
home  broken  at  last." 

"  I  must  be  a  gutta-percha  pitcher,  I  think,  then, 
or  else  — 

" '  There 's  a  sweet  little  cherub  who  sits  up  aloft,'  etc. 

as  Dibdin  has  it.  Now,  look  at  the  facts  yourself, 
sir,"  continued  the  stranger,  with  a  recklessness  half 
true,  half  assumed,  to  escape  from  the  malady  of 
thought.  "  I  don't  want  to  boast,  sir ;  I  only  want 
to  show  you  that  I  have  some  practical  reason  for 
wearing  as  my  motto,  '  Never  say  die.'  I  have 


128  Two  Years  Ago 

had  the  cholera  twice,  and  yellow-jack  beside ;  five 
several  times  I  have  had  bullets  through  me;  I 
have  been  bayoneted  and  left  for  dead;  I  have 
been  shipwrecked  three  times  —  and  once,  as  now, 
I  was  the  only  man  who  escaped ;  I  have  been 
fatted  by  savages  for  baking  and  eating,  and  got 
away  with  a  couple  of  friends  only  a  day  or  two 
before  the  feast.  One  really  narrow  chance  I  had, 
which  I  never  expected  to  squeeze  through ;  but, 
on  the  whole,  I  have  taken  full  precautions  to 
prevent  its  recurrence." 

"  What  was  that  then  ?" 

"  I  have  been  hanged,  sir,"  said  the  doctor, 
quietly. 

"Hanged?"  cried  the  lieutenant,  facing  round 
upon  his  strange  companion  with  a  visage  which 
asked  plainly  enough,  "You  hanged?  I  don't 
believe  you ;  and  if  you  have  been  hanged,  what 
have  you  been  doing  to  get  hanged?" 

"  You  need  not  take  care  of  your  pockets,  sir  — 
neither  robbery  nor  murder  was  it  which  brought 
me  to  the  gallows;  but  innocent  bug-hunting. 
The  fact  is,  I  was  caught  by  a  party  of  Mexicans, 
during  the  last  war,  straggling  after  plants  and 
insects,  and  hanged  as  a  spy.  I  don't  blame  the 
fellows ;  I  had  no  business  where  I  was ;  and  they 
could  not  conceive  that  a  man  would  risk  his  life 
for  a  few  butterflies." 

"But  if  you  were  hanged,  sir " 

"  Why  did  I  not  die?  By  my  usual  luck.  The 
fellows  were  clumsy,  and  the  noose  would  not 
work;  so  that  the  Mexican  doctor,  who  meant  to 
dissect  me,  brought  me  round  again ;  and  being  a 
freemason,  as  I  am,  stood  by  me,  got  me  safe  off, 
and  cheated  the  devil." 


Flotsam,  Jetsam,  and  Ligan       129 

The  worthy  lieutenant  walked  on  in  silence, 
stealing  furtive  glances  at  Tom,  as  if  he  had  been 
a  guest  from  the  other  world,  but  not  disbelieving 
his  story  in  the  least.  He  had  seen,  as  most  old 
navy  men,  so  many  strange  things  happen,  that  he 
was  prepared  to  give  credit  to  any  tale  when  told, 
as  Tom's  was,  with  a  straightforward  and  unboast- 
ful  simplicity. 

"  There  lives  the  girl  who  saved  you,"  said  he, 
as  they  passed  Grace  Harvey's  door. 

"  Ah  ?     I  ought  to  call  and  pay  my  respects." 

But  Grace  was  not  at  home.  The  wreck  had 
emptied  the  school;  and  Grace  had  gone  after 
her  scholars  to  the  beach. 

"  We  could  n't  keep  her  away,  weak  as  she  was," 
said  a  neighbor,  "  as  soon  as  she  heard  the  poor 
corpses  were  coming  ashore." 

"  Hum  !  "  said  Tom.  "  True  woman.'  Quaint 
—  that  appetite  for  horrors  the  sweet  creatures 
have.  Did  you  ever  see  a  man  hanged,  lieutenant? 
No  ?  If  you  had,  you  would  have  seen  two  women 
in  the  crowd  to  one  man.  Can  you  make  out  the 
philosophy  of  that?  " 

"  I  suppose  they  like  it,  as  some  people  do  hot 
peppers." 

"  Or  donkeys,  thistles  —  find  a  little  pain  pleas- 
ant! I  had  a  patient  once  in  France,  who  read 
Dumas'  '  Crimes  C^lebres '  all  the  week,  and  the 
'Vies  des  Saints,' on  Sundays,  and  both,  as  far  as  I 
could  see,  for  just  the  same  purpose  —  to  see  how 
miserable  people  could  be,  and  how  much  pinch- 
ing and  pulling  they  could  bear." 

So  they  walked  on,  along  a  sheep-path,  and  over 
the  Spur,  and  down  to  the  Cove. 

It  was  such  a  morning  as  often  follows  a  gale, 


130  Two  Years  Ago 

when  the  great  firmament  stares  down  upon  the 
ruin  which  it  has  made,  bright,  and  clear,  and  bold ; 
and  seems  to  say,  with  shameless  smile,  "  There 
I  have  done  it,  and  am  as  merry  as  ever  after  it 
all !  "  Beneath  a  cloudless  sky,  the  breakers,  still 
gray  and  foul  from  the  tempest,  were  tumbling  in 
before  a  cold  northern  breeze.  Half  a  mile  out  at 
sea,  the  rough  backs  of  the  Chough  and  Crow 
loomed  black  and  sulky  in  the  foam.  At  their 
feet,  the  rocks  and  shingle  of  the  Cove  were  alive 
with  human  beings  —  groups  of  women  and  chil- 
dren clustering  round  a  corpse  or  a  chest ;  sailors, 
knee-deep  in  the  surf,  hauling  at  floating  spars  and 
ropes;  oilskinned  coastguardsmen  pacing  up  and 
down  in  charge  of  goods,  while  groups  of  farmers' 
men,  who  had  hurried  down  from  the  villages 
inland,  lounged  about  on  the  top  of  the  cliff, 
looking  sulkily  on,  hoping  for  plunder,  and  yet 
half  afraid  to  mingle  with  the  sailors  below,  who 
looked  on  them  as  an  inferior  race,  and  refused,  in 
general,  to  intermarry  with  them. 

The  lieutenant  plainly  held  much  the  same 
opinion ;  for  as  a  party  of  them  tried  to  descend 
the  narrow  path  to  the  beach,  he  shouted  after 
them  to  come  back. 

"Eh?  you  won't?"  and  out  rattled  from  its 
scabbard  the  old  worthy's  sword.  "  Come  back,  I 
say,  you  loafing,  miching,  wrecking  crowkeepers ; 
there  are  no  pickings  for  you  here.  Brown, 
send  those  fellows  back  with  the  bayonet.  None 
but  blue-jackets  allowed  on  the  beach  !  "  And  the 
laborers  go  up  again,  grumbling. 

"  Can't  trust  those  landsharks.  They  '11  plunder 
even  the  rings  off  a  corpse's  fingers.  They  think 
every  wreck  a  godsend.  I  Ve  known  them,  after 


Flotsam,  Jetsam,  and  Ligan        131 

they  Ve  been  driven  off,  roll  great  stones  over  the 
cliff  at  night  on  the  coastguard,  just  out  of  spite ; 
while  these  blue-jackets  here,  I  can  depend  on 
them.  Can  you  tell  me  the  reason  of  that,  as  you 
seem  a  bit  of  a  philosopher?  " 

"  It  is  easy  enough ;  the  sailors  have  a  fellow- 
feeling  with  sailors,  and  the  landsmen  have  none. 
Besides,  the  sailors  are  finer  fellows,  body  and  soul ; 
and  the  reason  is  that  they  have  been  brought  up 
to  face  danger,  and  the  landsmen  have  n't." 

"  Well,"  said  the  lieutenant,  "  unless  a  man  has 
been  taught  to  look  death  in  the  face,  he  never  will 
grow  up,  I  believe,  to  be  much  of  a  man  at  all." 

"  Danger,  my  good  sir,  is  a  better  schoolmaster 
than  all  your  new  model  schools,  diagrams,  and 
scientific  apparatus.  It  made  our  forefathers  the 
masters  of  the  sea,  though  they  never  heard  of 
popular  science ;  and  I  dare  say  could  n't,  one  out 
of  ten  of  them,  spell  their  own  names." 

This  sentiment  elicited  from  the  lieutenant  a 
grunt  of  approbation,  as  Tom  intended  that  it 
should  do ;  shrewdly  arguing  that  the  old  martinet 
was  no  friend  to  the  modern  superstition,  that  all 
which  is  required  to  cast  out  the  devil  is  a  smat- 
tering of  the  'ologies. 

"Will  the  gentleman  see  the  corpses?"  asked 
Brown;  "we  have  fourteen  already;"  —  and  he 
led  the  way  to  where,  along  the  shingle  at  high- 
water  mark,  lay  a  ghastly  row,  some  fearfully 
bruised  and  mutilated,  cramped  together  by  the 
death  agony ;  others  with  the  peaceful  smile  which 
showed  that  they  had  sunk  to  sleep  in  that  strange 
water-death,  amid  a  wilderness  of  pleasant  dreams. 
Strong  men  lay  there,  little  children,  women,  whom 
the  sailors'  wives  had  covered  decently  with  cloaks 


132  Two  Years  Ago 

and  shawls;  and  at  their  heads  stood  Grace 
Harvey,  motionless,  with  folded  hands,  gazing  into 
the  dead  faces  with  her  great  solemn  eyes.  Her 
mother  and  Captain  Willis  stood  by,  watching  her 
with  a  sort  of  superstitious  awe.  She  took  no 
notice  either  of  Thurnall  or  of  the  lieutenant,  as 
the  doctor  identified  the  bodies  one  by  one,  with- 
out a  remark  which  indicated  any  human  emotion. 

"  A  very  sensible  man,  Willis,"  said  the  lieuten- 
ant apart,  as  Tom  knelt  awhile  to  examine  the 
crushed  features  of  a  sailor;  and  then  looking 
up,  said  simply : 

"James  Macgillivray,  second  mate.  Cause  of 
death,  contusions;  probably  by  the  fall  of  the 
mainmast." 

"  A  very  sensible  man,  and  has  seen  a  deal  of 
life,  and  kept  his  eyes  open ;  but  a  terrible  hard- 
plucked  one.  Talked  like  a  book  to  me  all  the 
way ;  but,  be  hanged  if  I  don't  think  he  has  a 
thirty-two  pound  shot  under  his  ribs  instead  of  a 
heart.  —  Doctor  Thurnall,  that  is  Miss  Harvey,  the 
young  person  who  saved  your  life  last  night." 

Tom  rose,  took  off  his  hat  (Frank  Headley's), 
and  made  her  a  bow,  of  which  an  ambassador 
need  not  be  ashamed. 

"  I  am  exceedingly  shocked  that  Miss  Harvey 
should  have  run  so  much  danger  for  anything  so 
worthless  as  my  life." 

She  looked  up  at  him,  and  answered,  not  him, 
but  her  own  thoughts. 

"  Strange,  is  it  not,  that  it  was  a  duty  to  pray  for 
all  these  poor  things  last  night,  and  a  sin  to  pray 
for  them  this  morning?  " 

"  Grace,  dear !  "  interposed  her  mother,  "  don't 
you  hear  the  gentleman  thanking  you  ?  " 


Flotsam,  Jetsam,  and  Ligan       133 

She  started,  as  one  awaking  out  of  a  dream,  and 
looked  into  his  face,  blushing  scarlet. 

"  Good  heavens,  what  a  beautiful  creature !  " 
said  Tom  to  himself,  as  quite  a  new  emotion 
passed  through  him.  Quite  new  it  was,  whatso- 
ever it  was;  and  he  was  aware  of  it.  He  had 
had  his  passions,  his  intrigues,  in  past  years,  and 
prided  himself — few  men  more  —  on  understand- 
ing women ;  but  the  expression  of  the  face,  and 
the  strange  words  with  which  she  had  greeted 
him,  added  to  the  broad  fact  of  her  having  offered 
her  own  life  for  his,  raised  in  him  a  feeling  of 
chivalrous  awe  and  admiration,  which  no  other 
woman  had  ever  called  up. 

"  Madam,"  he  said  again,  "  I  can  repay  you  with 
nothing  but  thanks;  but,  to  judge  from  your  con- 
duct last  night,  you  are  one  of  those  people  who 
will  find  reward  enough  in  knowing  that  you  have 
done  a  noble  and  heroic  action." 

She  looked  at  him  very  steadfastly,  blushing 
still.  Thurnall,  be  it  understood,  was  (at  least, 
while  his  face  was  in  the  state  in  which  Heaven 
intended  it  to  be,  half  hidden  in  a  silky-brown 
beard)  a  very  good-looking  fellow;  and  (to  use 
Mark  Armsworth's  description)  "  as  hard  as  a  nail ; 
as  fresh  as  a  rose;  and  stood  on  his  legs  like  a 
game-cock."  Moreover,  as  Willis  said  approv- 
ingly, he  had  spoken  to  her  "  as  if  he  was  a  duke, 
and  she  was  a  duchess."  Besides,  by  some  blessed 
moral  law,  the  surest  way  to  make  oneself  love  any 
human  being  is  to  go  and  do  him  a  kindness ;  and 
therefore  Grace  had  already  a  tender  interest  in 
Tom,  not  because  he  had  saved  her,  but  she  him. 
And  so  it  was,  that  a  strange  new  emotion  passed 
through  her  heart  also,  though  so  little  under- 


134  Two  Years  Ago 

stood  by  her,  that  she  put  it  forthwith  into 
words. 

"  You  might  repay  me,"  she  said,  in  a  sad  and 
tender  tone. 

"You  have  only  to  command  me,"  said  Tom, 
wincing  a  little  as  the  words  passed  his  lips. 

"  Then  turn  to  God,  now  in  the  day  of  His  mer- 
cies. Unless  you  have  turned  to  Him  already  ?  " 

One  glance  at  Tom's  rising  eyebrows  told  her 
what  he  thought  upon  those  matters. 

She  looked  at  him  sadly,  lingeringly,  as  if  con- 
scious that  she  ought  not  to  look  too  long,  and 
yet  unable  to  withdraw  her  eyes.  "  Ah !  and  such 
a  precious  soul  as  yours  must  be ;  a  precious  soul 
—  all  taken,  and  you  alone  left !  God  must  have 
high  things  in  store  for  you.  He  must  have  a 
great  work  for  you  to  do.  Else,  why  are  you  not 
as  one  of  these?  Oh,  think!  where  would  you 
have  been  at  this  moment  if  God  had  dealt  with 
you  as  with  them?" 

"Where  I  am  now,  I  suppose,"  said  Tom, 
quietly. 

"  Where  you  are  now?  " 

"Yes;  where  I  ought  to  be.  I  am  where  I 
ought  to  be  now.  I  suppose  if  I  had  found  my- 
self anywhere  else  this  morning,  I  should  have 
taken  it  as  a  sign  that  I  was  wanted  there,  and  not 
here." 

Grace  heaved  a  sigh  at  words  which  were  cer- 
tainly startling.  The  Stoic  optimism  of  the  world- 
hardened  doctor  was  new  and  frightful  to  her. 

"  My  good  madam,"  said  he,  "  the  part  of  Scrip- 
ture which  I  appreciate  best,  just  now,  is  the  case  of 
poor  Job,  where  Satan  has  leave  to  rob  and  torment 
him  to  the  utmost  of  his  wicked  will,  provided 


Flotsam,  Jetsam,  and  Ligan       135 

only  he  does  not  touch  his  life.  I  wish,"  he  went 
on,  lowering  his  voice,  "to  tell  you  something 
which  I  do  not  wish  publicly  talked  of;  but  in 
which  you  may  help  me.  I  had  nearly  fifteen 
hundred  pounds  about  me  when  I  came  ashore 
last  night,  sewed  in  a  belt  round  my  waist.  It  is 
gone.  That  is  all." 

Tom  looked  steadily  at  her  as  he  spoke.  She 
turned  pale,  red,  pale  again,  her  lips  quivered : 
but  she  spoke  no  word. 

"  She  has  it,  as  I  live !  "  thought  Tom  to  him- 
self. " '  Frailty,  thy  name  is  woman  ! '  The  cant- 
ing little  methodistical  humbug !  She  must  have 
slipped  it  off  my  waist  as  I  lay  senseless.  I  sup- 
pose she  means  to  keep  it  in  pawn,  till  I  redeem 
it  by  marrying  her.  Well,  I  might  take  an  uglier 
mate,  certainly;  but  when  I  do  enter  into  the 
bitter  bonds  of  matrimony,  I  should  like  to  be 
sure,  beforehand,  that  my  wife  was  not  a  thief!  " 

Why,  then,  did  not  Tom,  if  he  were  so  very  sure 
of  Grace's  having  the  belt,  charge  her  with  the 
theft?  Because  he  had  found  out  already  how 
popular  she  was,  and  was  afraid  of  merely  mak- 
ing himself  unpopular ;  because,  too,  he  took  for 
granted  that  whosoever  had  his  belt,  had  hidden 
it  already  beyond  the  reach  of  a  search  warrant ; 
and  because,  after  all,  an  honorable  shame  re- 
strained him.  It  would  be  a  poor  return  to  the 
woman  who  had  saved  his  life  to  charge  her  with 
theft  the  next  morning;  and  more,  there  was 
something  about  that  girl's  face  which  had  made 
him  feel  that,  if  he  had  seen  her  put  the  belt  into 
her  pocket  before  his  eyes,  he  could  not  have 
found  the  heart  to  have  sent  her  to  jail.  "  No ! " 
thought  he ;  "I  '11  get  it  out  of  her,  or  whoever 


136  Two  Years  Ago 

has  it,  and  stay  here  till  I  do  get  it.  One  place  is 
as  good  as  another  to  me." 

But  what  was  Grace  saying? 

She  had  turned,  after  two  or  three  minutes' 
astonished  silence,  to  her  mother  and  Captain 
Willis: 

"Belt!  Mother!  Uncle!  What  is  this?  The 
gentleman  has  lost  a  belt !  " 

"Dear  me!— a  belt?  Well,  child,  that's  not 
much  to  grieve  over,  when  the  Lord  has  spared 
his  life  and  soul  from  the  pit ! "  said  her  mother, 
somewhat  testily. 

"You  don't  understand.  A  belt,  I  say,  full  of 
money — fifteen  hundred  pounds;  he  lost  it  last 
night.  Uncle?  Speak,  quick!  Did  you  see  a 
belt?" 

Willis  shook  his  head  meditatively.  "I  don't, 
and  yet  I  do ;  and  yet  I  don't  again.  My  brains 
were  well-nigh  washed  out  of  me,  I  know.  How- 
ever, sir,  I  '11  think,  and  talk  it  over  with  you  too ; 
for  if  it  be  in  the  village,  found  it  ought  to  be,  and 
will  be,  with  God's  help." 

"  Found  ?  "  cried.  Grace,  in  so  high  a  key,  that 
Tom  entreated  her  to  calm  herself,  and  not  make 
the  matter  public.  "Found?  yes;  and  shall  be 
found,  if  there  be  justice  in  heaven.  Shame,  that 
West-country  folk  should  turn  robbers  and  wreck- 
ers! Mariners,  too,  and  mariners'  wives,  who 
should  be  praying  for  those  who  are  wandering 
far  away,  each  man  with  his  life  in  his  hand !  Ah, 
what  a  world  I  When  will  it  end  ?  soon,  too  soon, 
when  West-country  folk  rob  shipwrecked  men! 
But  you  will  find  your  belt ;  yes,  sir,  you  will  find 
it.  Wait  till  you  have  learnt  to  do  without  it 
Man  does  not  live  by  bread  alone.  Do  you  think 


Flotsam,  Jetsam,  and  Ligan       137 

he  lives  by  gold?  Only  be  patient;  and  when 
you  are  worthy  of  it,  you  shall  find  it  again,  in 
the  Lord's  good  time." 

To  the  doctor  this  seemed  a  mere  burst  of 
jargon,  invented  for  the  purpose  of  hiding  guilt; 
and  his  faith  in  womankind  was  not  heightened 
when  he  heard  Grace's  mother  say,  sotto  voce  to 
Willis,  that  "  In  wrecks,  and  fires,  and  such  like, 
a  many  people  complained  of  having  lost  more 
than  ever  they  had." 

"  Oh  ho !  my  old  lady,  is  that  the  way  the  fox 
is  gone?"  quoth  Tom  to  that  trusty  counsellor, 
himself;  and  began  carefully  scrutinizing  Mrs. 
Harvey's  face.  It  had  been  very  handsome:  it 
was  still  very  clever:  but  the  eyebrows,  crushed 
together  downwards  above  her  nose,  and  rising 
high  at  the  outer  corners,  indicated,  as  surely  as 
the  restless  down-dropt  eye,  a  character  self-con- 
scious, furtive,  capable  of  great  inconsistencies, 
possibly  of  great  deceits. 

"  You  don't  look  me  in  the  face,  old  lady  I " 
quoth  Tom  to  himself.  "  Very  well !  between  you 
two  it  lies;  unless  that  old  gentleman  implicates 
himself  also,  in  his  approaching  confession." 

He  took  his  part  at  once.  "  Well,  well,  you  will 
oblige  me  by  saying  nothing  more  about  it.  After 
all,  as  this  good  lady  says,  the  loss  of  a  little  money 
is  not  worth  complaining  over,  when  one  has 
escaped  with  life.  Good  morning;  and  many 
thanks  for  all  your  kindness !  " 

And  Tom  made  another  grand  bow,  and  went 
off  to  the  lieutenant. 

Grace  looked  after  him  awhile,  as  one  stunned; 
and  then  turned  to  her  mother. 

"  Let  us  go  home." 


138  Two  Years  Ago 

"  Go  home  ?    Why  there,  dear  ?  " 

"Let  me  go  home;  you  need  not  come.  I 
am  sick  of  this  world.  Is  it  not  enough  to  have 
misery  and  death  "  (and  she  pointed  to  the  row  of 
corpses),  "but  we  must  have  sin,  too,  wherever 
we  turn !  Meanness  and  theft :  —  and  ingratitude 
too ! "  she  added,  in  a  lower  tone. 

She  went  homeward ;  her  mother,  in  spite  of 
her  entreaties,  accompanied  her;  and,  for  some 
reason  or  other,  did  not  lose  sight  of  her  all  that 
day,  or  for  several  days  after. 

Meanwhile,  Willis  had  beckoned  the  doctor 
aside.  His  face  was  serious  and  sad,  and  his 
lips  were  trembling. 

"This  is  a  very  shocking  business,  sir.  Of 
course,  you  Ve  told  the  lieutenant?  " 

"  Not  yet,  my  good  sir." 

"  But  —  excuse  my  boldness ;  what  plainer  way 
of  getting  it  back  from  the  rascal,  whoever  he  is  ?  " 

"  Wait  awhile,"  said  Tom ;  "  I  have  my  reasons." 

"  But,  sir,  for  the  honor  of  the  place,  the  matter 
should  be  cleared  up;  and  till  the  thief's  found, 
suspicion  will  lie  on  a  dozen  innocent  men ;  my- 
self among  the  rest,  for  that  matter." 

"You?"  said  Tom,  smiling.  "I  don't  know 
who  I  have  the  honor  to  speak  to ;  but  you  don't 
look  much  like  a  gentleman  who  wishes  for  a  trip 
to  Botany  Bay." 

The  old  man  chuckled,  and  then  his  face  dropped 
again. 

"  I  'm  glad  you  take  the  thing  so  like  a  man, 
sir;  but  it  is  really  no  laughing  matter.  It's  a 
scoundrelly  job,  only  fit  for  a  Maltee  off  the  Nix 
Mangeery.  If  it  had  been  a  lot  of  those  carter 
fellows  that  had  carried  you  up,  I  could  have 


Flotsam,  Jetsam,  and  Ligan        139 

understood  it;  wrecking's  born  in  the  bone  of 
them :  but  for  those  four  sailors  that  carried  you 
up,  'gad,  sir,  they  'd  have  been  shot  sooner.  I  Ve 
known  'em  from  boys !  "  and  the  old  man  spoke 
quite  fiercely,  and  looked  up;  his  lip  trembling, 
and  his  eye  moist. 

"  There 's  no  doubt  that  you  are  honest  —  who- 
ever is  not,"  thought  Tom ;  so  he  ventured  a  fur- 
ther question. 

"  Then  you  were  by  all  the  while  ?  " 

"All  the  while?  Who  more?  And  that's  just 
what  puzzles  me." 

"  Pray  don't  speak  loud,"  said  Tom.  "  I  have 
my  reasons  for  keeping  things  quiet." 

"  I  tell  you,  sir.  I  held  the  maid,  and  big  John 
Beer  (Gentleman  Jan  they  call  him)  held  me ;  and 
the  maid  had  both  her  hands  tight  in  your  belt. 
I  saw  it  as  plain  as  I  see  you,  just  before  the  wave 
covered  us,  though  little  I  thought  what  was  in 
it;  and  should  never  have  remembered  you  had 
a  belt  at  all,  if  I  had  n't  thought  over  things  in  tke 
last  five  minutes." 

"  Well,  sir,  I  am  lucky  in  having  come  straight 
to  the  fountain  head;  and  must  thank  you  for 
telling  me  so  frankly  what  you  know." 

"Tell  you,  sir?  What  else  should  one  do  but 
tell  you?  I  only  wish  I  knew  more;  and  more 
I  '11  know,  please  the  Lord.  And  you  '11  excuse 
an  old  sailor  (though  not  of  your  rank,  sir)  say- 
ing that  he  wonders  a  little  that  yott  don't  take 
the  plain  means  of  knowing  more  yourself 

"  May  I  take  the  liberty  of  asking  your  name  ?  " 
said  Tom ;  who  saw  by  this  time  that  the  old  man 
was  worthy  of  his  confidence. 

"  Willis,  at  your  service,  sir.  Captain  they  call 
Vol.  10— G 


140  Two  Years  Ago 

me,  though  I  'm  none.  Sailing-master  I  was,  on 
board  of  His  Majesty's  ship  '  Niobe/  84 ;  "  and 
Willis  raised  his  hat  with  such  an  air,  that  Tom 
raised  his  in  return. 

"  Then,  Captain  Willis,  let  me  have  five  words 
with  you  apart;  first  thanking  you  for  having 
helped  to  save  my  life." 

"  I  'm  very  glad  I  did,  sir ;  and  thanked  God 
for  it  on  my  knees  this  morning:  but  you'll  ex- 
cuse me,  sir,  I  was  thinking  —  and  no  blame  to 
me  —  more  of  saving  my  poor  maid's  life  than 
yours,  and  no  offence  to  you,  for  I  had  n't  the 
honor  of  knowing  you ;  but  for  her,  I  'd  have 
been  drowned  a  dozen  times  over." 

"No  offence,  indeed,"  said  Tom;  and  hardly 
knew  what  to  say  next.  "  May  I  ask,  is  she  your 
niece?  I  heard  her  call  you  uncle." 

"Oh,  no — no  relation;  only  I  look  on  her  as 
my  own,  poor  thing,  having  no  father ;  and  she 
always  calls  me  uncle,  as  most  do  us  old  men  in 
the  West." 

"  Well,  then,  sir,"  said  Tom,  "  you  will  answer 
for  none  of  the  four  sailors  having  robbed 
me?" 

"  I  Ve  said  it,  sir." 

"  Was  any  one  else  close  to  her  when  we  were 
brought  ashore ! " 

"  No  one  but  I.     I  brought  her  round  myself." 

"  And  who  took  her  home?  " 

"  Her  mother  and  I." 

"Very  good.  And  you  never  saw  the  belt  after 
she  had  her  hands  in  it?" 

"  No ;  I  'm  sure  not." 

"  Was  her  mother  by  her  when  she  was  lying 
on  the  rock?" 


Flotsam,  Jetsam,  and  Ligan       141 

"  No ;  came  up  afterwards,  just  as  I  got  her  on 
her  feet." 

"Humph!  What  sort  of  a  character  is  her 
mother?" 

"  Oh,  a  tidy,  God-fearing  person  enough.  One 
of  these  Methodist  class-leaders,  Brianites  they 
call  themselves.  I  don't  hold  with  them,  though 
I  do  go  to  chapel  at  whiles ;  but  there  are  good 
ones  among  them ;  and  I  do  believe  she 's  one, 
though  she 's  a  little  fretful  at  times.  Keeps  a 
little  shop  that  don't  pay  over  well;  and  those 
preachers  live  on  her  a  good  deal,  I  think.  Creep- 
ing into  widows'  houses,  and  making  long  prayers 
—  you  know  the  text." 

"  Well,  now,  Captain  Willis,  I  don't  want  to  hurt 
your  feelings;  but  do  you  not  see  that  one  of  two 
things  I  must  believe — either  that  the  belt  was 
torn  off  my  waist,  and  washed  back  into  the  sea, 
as  it  may  have  been  after  all ;  or  else,  that " 

"Do  you  mean  that  she  took  it?  "  asked  Willis, 
in  a  voice  of  such  indignant  astonishment  that 
Tom  could  only  answer  by  a  shrug  of  the  shoul- 
ders. 

14  Who  else  could  have  done  so,  on  your  own 
showing?" 

.  "  Sir !  "  said  Willis,  slowly.  "  I  thought  I  had 
to  do  with  a  gentleman :  but  I  have  my  doubts  of 
it  now.  A  poor  girl  risks  her  life  to  drag  you  out 
of  that  sea,  which  but  for  her  would  have  hove 
your  body  up  to  lie  along  with  that  line  there,"  — 
and  Willis  pointed  to  the  ghastly  row  — "  and 
your  soul  gone  to  give  in  its  last  account  —  you 
only  know  what  that  would  have  been  like  —  and 
the  first  thing  you  do  in  payment  is  to  accuse  her 
of  robbing  you  —  her,  that  the  very  angels  in 


142  Two  Years  Ago 

heaven,  I  believe,  are  glad  to  keep  company 
with ;  "  and  the  old  man  turned  and  paced  the 
beach  in  fierce  excitement. 

"  Captain  Willis,"  said  Tom,  "  I  '11  trouble  you 
to  listen  patiently  and  civilly  to  me  a  minute." 

Willis  stopped,  drew  himself  up,  and  touched 
his  hat  mechanically. 

"Just  because  I  am  a  gentleman,  I  have  not 
accused  her ;  but  held  my  tongue,  and  spoken  to 
you  in  confidence.  Now,  perhaps,  you  will  under- 
stand why  I  have  said  nothing  to  the  lieutenant." 

Willis  looked  up  at  him. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir.  I  see  now,  and  I  'm 
sorry  if  I  was  rude ;  but  it  took  me  aback,  and 
does  still.  I  tell  you,  sir,"  quoth  he,  warming 
again,  "  whatever  's  true,  that 's  false.  You  're 
wrong  there,  if  you  never  are  wrong  again ;  and 
you  '11  say  so  yourself,  before  you  Ve  known  her  a 
week.  No,  sir !  If  you  could  make  me  believe 
that,  I  should  never  believe  in  goodness  again  on 
earth;  but  hold  all  men,  and  women  too,  and 
those  above,  for  aught  I  know,  that  are  greater 
than  men  and  women,  for  liars  together." 

What  was  to  be  answered  ?  Perhaps  only  what 
Tom  did  answer. 

"My  good  sir,  I  will  say  no  more.  I  would 
not  have  said  that  much  if  I  had  thought  I  should 
have  pained  you  so.  I  suppose  that  the  belt  was 
washed  into  the  sea.  Why  not?  " 

"Why  not,  indeed,  sir?  That's  a  much  more 
Christian-like  way  of  looking  at  it  than  to  blacken 
your  own  soul  before  God  by  suspecting  that  sweet 
innocent  creature." 

"Be  it  so,  then.  Only  say  nothing  about  the 
matter;  and  beg  them  to  say  nothing.  If  it  be 


Flotsam,  Jetsam,  and  Ligan       143 

jammed  among  the  rocks  (as  it  might  be,  heavy  as 
it  is),  talking  about  it  will  only  set  people  looking 
for  it;  and  I  suppose  there  is  a  man  or  two,  even 
in  Aberalva,  who  would  find  fifteen  hundred 
pounds  a  tempting  bait.  If,  again,  some  one  finds 
it,  and  makes  away  with  it,  he  will  only  be  the 
more  careful  to  hide  it  if  he  knows  that  I  am  on 
the  lookout.  So  just  tell  Miss  Harvey  and  her 
mother  that  I  think  it  must  have  been  lost,  and 
beg  them  to  keep  my  secret.  And  now  shake  hands 
with  me." 

"The  best  plan,  I  believe,  though  bad,  is  the 
best,"  said  Willis,  holding  out  his  hand;  and  he 
walked  away  sadly.  His  spirit  had  been  alto- 
gether ruffled  by  the  imputation  on  Grace's  char- 
acter; and,  besides,  the  chances  of  ThurnaH's 
recovering  his  money  seemed  to  him  very  small. 

In  five  minutes  he  returned. 

"  If  you  would  allow  me,  sir,  there 's  a  man  there 
of  whom  I  should  like  to  ask  one  question.  He 
who  held  me,  and,  after  that,  helped  to  carry 
you  up ;  "  and  he  pointed  to  Gentleman  Jan,  who 
stood,  dripping  from  the  waist  downward,  over  a 
chest  which  he  had  just  secured.  "  Just  let  us 
ask  him,  off-hand  like,  whether  you  had  a  belt  on 
when  he  carried  you  up.  You  may  trust  him,  sir. 
He  'd  knock  you  down  as  soon  as  look  at  you ;  but 
tell  a  lie,  never." 

They  went  to  the  giant,  and  after  cordial  salu- 
tations, Tom  propounded  his  question  carelessly, 
with  something  like  a  white  lie. 

"  It  '9  no  great  matter ;  but  it  was  an  old  friend, 
you  see,  with  fittings  for  my  knife  and  pistols,  and 
I  should  be  glad  to  find  it  again." 

Jan  thrust  his  red  hand  through  his  black  curls, 


144  Two  Years  Ago 

and  meditated  while  the  water  surged  round  his 
ankles. 

"  Never  a  belt  seed  I,  sir ;  leastwise  while  you 
were  in  my  hands.  I  had  you  round  the  waist  all 
the  way  up,  so  no  one  could  have  took  it  off. 
Why  should  they?  And  I  undressed  you  myself; 
and  nothing,  save  your  presence,  was  there  to  get 
off,  but  jersey  and  trousers,  and  a  lump  of  backy 
against  your  skin  that  looked  the  right  sort." 

"  Have  some,  then,"  said  Tom,  pulling  out  the 
honeydew.  "  As  for  the  belt,  I  suppose  it 's  gone 
to  choke  the  dog-fish." 

And  there  the  matter  ended,  outwardly  at  least; 
but  only  outwardly.  Torn  had  his  own  opinion, 
gathered  from  Grace's  seemingly  guilty  face,  and  to 
it  he  held,  and  called  old  Willis,  in  his  heart,  a 
simple-minded  old  dotard,  who  had  been  taken  in 
by  her  hypocrisy. 

And  Tom  accompanied  the  lieutenant  on  his 
dreary  errand  that  day,  and  several  days  after, 
through  depositions  before  a  justice,  interviews 
with  Lloyd's  underwriters,  and  all  the  sad  details 
which  follow  a  wreck.  Ere  the  week's  end,  forty 
bodies  and  more  had  been  recovered,  and  brought 
up,  ten  or  twelve  at  a  time,  to  the  churchyard, 
and  upon  the  down,  and  laid  side  by  side  in  one 
long  shallow  pit,  where  Frank  Headley  read  over 
them  the  blessed  words  of  hope,  amid  the  sobs  of 
women,  and  the  grand  silence  of  stalwart  men,  who 
knew  not  how  soon  their  turn  might  come;  and 
after  each  procession  came  Grace  Harvey,  with 
all  her  little  scholars  two  and  two,  to  listen  to  the 
funeral  service;  and  when  the  last  corpse  was 
buried,  they  planted  flowers  upon  the  mound,  and 
went  their  way  again  to  learn  hymns  and  read 


Flotsam,  Jetsam,  and  Ligan       145 

their  Bible  —  little  ministering  angels  to  whom,  as 
to  most  sailors'  children,  death  was  too  common  a 
sight  to  have  in  it  aught  of  hideous  or  strange. 

And  this  was  the  end  of  the  good  ship 
"  Hesperus,"  and  all  her  gallant  crew. 

Verily,  however  important  the  mere  animal 
lives  of  men  may  be,  and  ought  to  be,  at  times,  in 
our  eyes,  they  never  have  been  so,  to  judge  from 
floods  and  earthquakes,  pestilence  and  storm,  in 
the  eyes  of  Him  who  made  and  loves  us  all.  It  is 
a  strange  fact:  better  for  us,  instead  of  shutting 
our  eyes  to  it  because  it  interferes  with  our 
modern  tenderness  of  pain,  to  ask  honestly  what  it 
means. 


THE  WAY  TO  WIN  THEM 

SO,  for  a  week  or  more  Tom  went  on  thrivingly 
enough,  and  became  a  general  favorite  in  the 
town.  Heale  had  no  reason  to  complain  of  board- 
ing him,  for  he  had  dinner  and  supper  thrust  on 
him  every  day  by  one  and  another,  who  were  glad 
enough  to  have  him  for  the  sake  of  his  stories, 
and  songs,  and  endless  fun  and  good-humor. 
The  lieutenant,  above  all,  took  the  newcomer  under 
his  special  patronage,  and  was  paid  for  his  services 
in  some  of  Tom's  incomparable  honeydew.  The 
old  fellow  soon  found  that  the  doctor  knew  more 
than  one  old  foreign  station  of  his,  and  ended  by 
pouring  out  to  him  his  ancient  wrongs,  and  the 
evil  doings  of  the  wicked  admiral;  all  of  which 
Tom  heard  with  deepest  sympathy,  and  surprise 
that  so  much  naval  talent  had  remained  unappre- 
ciated by  the  unjust  upper  powers ;  and  the  lieu- 
tenant, of  course,  reported  of  him  accordingly  to 
Heale. 

"  A  very  civil  spoken  and  intelligent  youngster, 
Mr.  Heale,  d'  ye  see,  to  my  mind ;  and  you  can't 
do  better  than  accept  his  offer;  for  you  '11  find  him 
a  great  help,  especially  among  the  ladies,  d'  ye  see. 
They  like  a  good-looking  chap,  eh,  Mrs.  Jones?  " 

On  the  fourth  day,  by  good  fortune,  what  should 
come  ashore  but  Tom's  own  chest  —  moneyless, 
alas !  but  with  many  useful  matters  still  unspoilt 


The  Way  to  Win  Them          147 

by  salt  water.  So  all  went  well,  and  indeed  some- 
what too  well  (if  Tom  would  have  let  it),  in  the 
case  of  Miss  Anna  Maria  Heale,  the  doctor's 
daughter. 

She  was  just  such  a  girl  as  her  father's  daughter 
was  likely  to  be ;  a  short,  stout,  rosy,  pretty  body 
of  twenty,  with  loose  red  lips,  thwart  black  eye- 
brows, and  right  naughty  eyes  under  them,  of 
which  Tom  took  good  heed :  for  Miss  Heale  was 
exceedingly  inclined,  he  saw,  to  make  use  of  them 
in  his  behoof.  Let  others  who  have  experience  in, 
and  taste  for  such  matters,  declare  how  she  set  her 
cap  at  the  dapper  young  surgeon ;  how  she  rushed 
into  the  shop  with  sweet  abandon  ten  times  a  day, 
to  find  her  father ;  and,  not  finding  him,  giggled, 
and  blushed,  and  shook  her  shoulders,  and  retired, 
to  peep  at  Tom  through  the  glass  door  which  led 
into  the  parlor ;  how  she  discovered  that  the  mus- 
lin curtain  of  the  said  door  would  get  out  of  order 
every  ten  minutes ;  and  at  last  called  Mr.  Thurn- 
all  to  assist  her  in  rearranging  it;  how,  bolder 
grown,  she  came  into  the  shop  to  help  herself 
to  various  matters,  inquiring  tenderly  for  Tom's 
health,  and  giggling  vulgar  sentiments  about 
"  absent  friends,  and  hearts  left  behind ;  "  in  the 
hope  of  fishing  out  whether  Tom  had  a  sweetheart 
or  not.  How,  at  last,  she  was  minded  to  confide 
her  own  health  to  Tom,  and  to  install  him  as  her 
private  physician ;  yea,  and  would  have  made  him 
feel  her  pulse  on  the  spot,  had  he  not  luckily  found 
some  assafcetida,  and  therewith  so  perfumed  the 
shop,  that  her  "  nerves  "  (of  which  she  was  always 
talking,  though  she  had  nerves  only  in  the  sense 
wherein  a  sirloin  of  beef  has  them)  forced  her  to 
beat  a  retreat. 


148  Two  Years  Ago 

But  she  returned  again  to  the  charge  next  day, 
and  rushed  bravely  through  that  fearful  smell, 
cleaver  in  hand/as  the  carrier  set  down  at  the  door 
a  huge  box,  carriage  paid,  all  the  way  from  Lon- 
don, and  directed  to  Thomas  Thurnall,  Esquire. 
She  would  help  to  open  it ;  and  so  she  did,  while 
old  Heale  and  his  wife  stood  by  curious,  —  he  with 
a  maudlin  wonder  and  awe  (for  he  regarded  Tom 
already  as  an  altogether  awful  and  incomprehensi- 
ble "  party  "),  and  Mrs.  Heale  with  a  look  of  in- 
credulous scorn,  as  if  she  expected  the  box  to  be 
a  mere  sham,  filled  probably  with  shavings.  For 
(from  reasons  best  known  to  herself)  she  had 
never  looked  pleasantly  on  the  arrangement  which 
intrusted  to  Tom  the  care  of  the  bottles.  She  had 
given  way  from  motives  of  worldly  prudence,  even 
of  necessity;  for  Heale  had  been  for  the  greater 
part  of  the  week  quite  incapable  of  attending  to 
his  business ;  but  black  envy  and  spite  were  seeth- 
ing in  her  foolish  heart,  and  seethed  more  and 
more  fiercely  when  she  saw  that  the  box  did  not 
contain  shavings,  but  valuables  of  every  sort  and 
kind  —  drugs,  instruments,  a  large  microscope 
(which  Tom  delivered  out  of  Miss  Heale's  fat 
clumsy  fingers  only  by  strong  warnings  that  it 
would  go  off  and  shoot  her),  books  full  of  prints 
of  unspeakable  monsters;  and  finally,  a  little 
packet,  containing  not  one  five-pound  note,  but 
four,  and  a  letter  which  Tom,  after  perusing,  put 
into  Mr.  Heale's  hands  with  a  look  of  honest 
pride. 

The  Mumpsimus  men,  it  appeared,  had  "  sent 
round  the  hat"  for  him,  and  here  were  the  results ; 
and  they  would  send  the  hat  round  again  every 
month,  if  he  wanted  it;  or,  if  he  would  come  up, 


The  Way  to  Win  Them          149 

board,  lodge,  and  wash  him  gratis.  The  great 
Doctor  Bellairs,  House  Physician,  and  Carver,  the 
famous  operator  (names  at  which  Heale  bowed  his 
head  and  worshipped),  sent  compliments,  con- 
dolences, offers  of  employment  —  never  was  so 
triumphant  a  testimonial ;  and  Heale,  in  his  sim- 
plicity, thought  himself  (as  indeed  he  was)  the 
luckiest  of  country  doctors;  while  Mrs.  Heale, 
after  swelling  and  choking  for  five  minutes,  tottered 
into  the  back  room,  and  cast  herself  on  the  sofa  in 
violent  hysterics. 

As  she  came  round  again,  Tom  could  not  but 
overhear  a  little  that  passed.  And  this  he  over- 
heard among  other  matters: 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Heale,  I  see,  I  see  too  well,  which 
your  natural  blindness,  sir,  and  that  fatal  easiness 
of  temper,  will  bring  you  to  a  premature  grave 
within  the  paupers'  precincts ;  and  this  young  de- 
signing infidel,  with  his  science  and  his  magnifiers, 
and  his  callipers,  and  philosophy  falsely  so  called, 
which  in  our  true  Protestant  youth  there  was  none, 
nor  needed  none,  to  supplant  you  in  your  old  age, 
and  take  the  bread  out  of  your  gray  hairs,  which 
he  will  bring  with  sorrow  to  the  grave,  and  mine 
likewise,  which  am  like  my  poor  infant  here,  of 
only  too  sensitive  sensibilities  !  Oh,  Anna  Maria, 
my  child,  my  poor  lost  child  !  which  I  can  feel  for 
the  tenderness  of  the  inexperienced  heart!  My 
Virgin  Eve,  which  the  Serpent  has  entered  into 
your  youthful  paradise,  and  you  will  find,  alas  !  too 
late,  that  you  have  warmed  an  adder  into  your 
bosom ! " 

"  Oh,  ma,  how  indelicate  !  "  giggled  Anna  Maria, 
evidently  not  displeased.  "  If  you  don't  mind  he 
will  hear  you,  and  I  should  never  be  able  to  look 


150  Two  Years  Ago 

him  in  the  face  again."  And  therewith  she  looked 
round  to  the  glass  door. 

What  more  passed,  Tom  did  not  choose  to  hear  ; 
for  he  began  making  all  the  bustle  he  could  in  the 
shop,  merely  saying  to  himself: 

"  That  flood  of  eloquence  is  symptomatic 
enough :  I  '11  lay  my  life  the  old  dame  knows  her 
way  to  the  laudanum  bottle." 

Tom's  next  business  was  to  ingratiate  himself 
with  the  young  curate.  He  had  found  out  already, 
cunning  fellow,  that  any  extreme  intimacy  with" 
Headley  would  not  increase  his  general  popularity ; 
and,  as  we  have  seen  already,  he  bore  no  great  affec- 
tion to  "  the  cloth  "  in  general ;  but  the  curate  was 
an  educated  gentleman,  and  Tom  wished  for  some 
more  rational  conversation  than  that  of  the  lieu- 
tenant and  Heale.  Besides,  he  was  one  of  those 
men  with  whom  the  possession  of  power,  sought  at 
first  from  self-interest,  has  become  a  passion,  a 
species  of  sporting,  which  he  follows  for  its  own 
sake.  To  whomsoever  he  met  he  must  needs 
apply  the  moral  stethoscope;  sound  him,  lungs, 
heart,  and  liver;  put  his  tissues  under  the  micro- 
scope, and  try  conclusions  on  him  to  the  utter- 
most. They  might  be  useful  hereafter;  for 
knowledge  was  power :  or  they  might  not.  What 
matter?  Every  fresh  specimen  of  humanity  which 
he  examined  was  so  much  gained  in  general 
knowledge.  Very  true,  Thomas  Thurnall ;  pro- 
vided the  method  of  examination  be  the  sound  and 
the  deep  one,  which  will  lead  you  down  in  each 
case  to  the  real  living  heart  of  humanity;  but  what 
if  your  method  be  altogether  a  shallow  and  a  cyn- 
ical one,  savoring  much  more  of  Gil  Bias  than  of 
St.  Paul,  grounded  not  on  faith  and  love  for  human 


The  Way  to  Win  Them          151 

beings,  but  on  something  very  like  suspicion  and 
contempt?  You  will  be  but  too  likely,  doctor,  to 
make  the  coarsest  mistakes,  when  you  fancy  your- 
self most  penetrating  ;  to  mistake  the  mere  scurf 
and  disease  of  the  character  for  its  healthy  organic 
tissue,  and  to  find  out  at  last,  somewhat  to  your 
confusion,  that  there  are  more  things,  not  only  in 
heaven,  but  in  the  earthiest  of  the  earth,  than  are 
dreamt  of  in  your  philosophy.  You  have  already 
set  down  Grace  Harvey  as  a  hypocrite,  and  Willis 
as  a  dotard.  Will  you  make  up  your  mind,  in 
the  same  foolishness  of  over-wisdom,  that  Frank 
Headley  is  a  merely  narrow-headed  and  hard- 
hearted pedant,  quite  unaware  that  he  is  living  an 
inner  life  of  doubts,  struggles,  prayers,  self-re- 
proaches, noble  hunger  after  an  ideal  of  moral 
excellence,  such  as  you,  friend  Tom,  never  yet 
dreamt  of,  which  would  be  to  you  as  an  unintel- 
ligible gibber  of  shadows  out  of  dreamland,  but 
which  is  to  him  the  only  reality,  the  life  of  life,  for 
which  everything  is  to  be  risked  and  suffered? 
You  treat  his  opinions  (though  he  never  thrusts 
them  on  you)  about  "  the  Church,"  and  his  duty, 
and  the  souls  of  his  parishioners,  with  civil  indiffer- 
ence, as  much  ado  about  nothing;  and  his  rubrical 
eccentricities  as  puerilities.  You  have  already 
made  up  your  mind  to  "  try  and  put  a  little  com- 
mon sense  into  him,"  not  because  it  is  any  concern 
of  yours  whether  he  has  common  sense  or  not,  but 
because  you  think  that  it  will  be  better  for  you  to 
have  the  parish  at  peace ;  but  has  it  ever  occurred 
to  you  how  noble  the  man  is,  even  in  his  mistakes? 
How  that  one  thought,  that  the  finest  thing  in  the 
world  is  to  be  utterly  good,  and  to  make  others 
good  also,  puts  him  three  heavens  at  least  above 


152  Two  Years  Ago 

you,  you  most  unangelic  terrier-dog,  bemired  all 
day  long  by  grubbing  after  vermin  !  What  if  his 
idea  of  "  the  Church  "  be  somewhat  too  narrow  for 
the  year  of  grace  1854,  is  it  no  honor  to  him 
that  he  has  such  an  idea  at  all ;  that  there  has 
risen  up  before  him  the  vision  of  a  perfect  polity, 
a  "  Divine  and  wonderful  Order,"  linking  earth  to 
heaven,  and  to  the  very  throne  of  Him  who  died 
for  men;  witnessing  to  each  of  its  citizens  what 
the  world  tries  to  make  him  forget,  namely,  that 
he  is  the  child  of  God  himself;  and  guiding  and 
strengthening  him,  from  the  cradle  to  the  grave,  to 
do  his  Father's  work?  Is  it  a  shame  to  him  that 
he  has  seen  that  such  a  polity  must  exist,  that  he 
believes  that  it  does  exist ;  or  that  he  thinks  he 
finds  it  in  its  highest,  if  not  its  perfect  form,  in  the 
most  ancient  and  august  -traditions  of  his  native 
land?  True,  he  has  much  to  learn,  and  you  may 
teach  him  something  of  it ;  but  you  will  find  some 
day,  Thomas  Thurnall,  that,  granting  you  to  be 
at  one  pole  of  the  English  character,  and  Frank 
Headley  at  the  other,  be  is  as  good  an  English- 
man as  you,  and  can  teach  you  more  than  you  can 
him. 

The  two  soon  began  to  pass  almost  every  evening 
together,  pleasantly  enough ;  for  the  reckless  and 
rattling  manner  which  Tom  assumed  with  the  mob, 
he  laid  aside  with  the  curate,  and  showed  himself 
as  agreeable  a  companion  as  man  could  need; 
while  Tom  in  his  turn  found  that  Headley  was  a 
rational  and  sweet-tempered  man,  who,  even  where 
he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  differ,  could  hear  an 
adverse  opinion,  put  sometimes  in  a  startling  shape, 
without  falling  into  any  of  those  male  hysterics  of 
sacred  horror,  which  are  the  usual  refuge  of  igno- 


The  Way  to  Win  Them          153 

ranee  and  stupidity,  terrified  by  what  it  cannot 
refute.  And  soon  Tom  began  to  lay  aside  the 
reserve  which  he  usually  assumed  to  clergymen, 
and  to  tread  on  ground  which  Headley  would 
gladly  have  avoided.  For,  to  tell  the  truth,  ever 
since  Tom  had  heard  of  Grace's  intended  dismissal, 
the  curate's  opinions  had  assumed  a  practical  im- 
portance in  his  eyes ;  and  he  had  vowed  in  secret 
that,  if  his  cunning  failed  him  not,  turned  out  of 
her  school  she  should  not  be.  Whether  she  had 
stolen  his  money  or  not,  she  had  saved  his  life ; 
and  nobody  should  wrong  her,  if  he  could  help  it. 
Besides,  perhaps  she  had  not  his  money.  The  belt 
might  have  slipped  off  in  the  struggle ;  some  one 
else  might  have  taken  it  off  in  carrying  him  up ; 
he  might  have  mistaken  the  shame  of  innocence  in 
her  face  for  that  of  guilt.  Be  it  as  it  might,  he  had 
not  the  heart  to  make  the  matter  public,  and  con- 
tented himself  with  staying  at  Aberalva,  and  watch- 
ing for  every  hint  of  his  lost  treasure. 

By  which  it  befell  that  he  was  thinking,  the  half 
of  every  day  at  least,  about  Grace  Harvey;  and 
her  face  was  seldom  out  of  his  mind's  eye :  and 
the  more  he  looked  at  it,  either  in  fancy  or  in  fact, 
the  more  did  it  fascinate  him.  They  met  but  rarely, 
and  then  interchanged  the  most  simple  and  modest 
of  salutations :  but  Tom  liked  to  meet  her,  would 
have  gladly  stopped  to  chat  with  her;  however, 
whether  from  modesty  or  from  a  guilty  conscience, 
she  always  hurried  on  in  silence. 

And  she?  Tom's  request  to  her,  through  Willis, 
to  say  nothing  about  the  matter,  she  had  obeyed, 
as  her  mother  also  had  done.  That  Tom  suspected 
her  was  a  thought  which  never  crossed  her  mind ; 
to  suspect  any  one  herself  was  in  her  eyes  a  sin; 


154  Two  Years  Ago 

and  if  the  fancy  that  this  man  or  that,  among  the 
sailors  who  had  carried  Tom  up  to  Heale's,  might 
have  been  capable  of  the  baseness,  she  thrust  the 
thought  from  her,  and  prayed  to  be  forgiven  for  her 
uncharitable  judgment. 

But  night  and  day  there  weighed  on  that  strange 
and  delicate  spirit  the  shame  of  the  deed,  as  heav- 
ily, if  possible,  as  if  she  herself  had  been  the  doer. 
There  was  another  soul  in  danger  of  perdition; 
another  black  spot  of  sin,  making  earth  hideous  to 
her.  The  village  was  disgraced ;  not  in  the  public 
eyes,  true :  but  in  the  eye  of  Heaven,  and  in  the 
eyes  of  that  stranger  for  whom  she  was  beginning 
to  feel  an  interest  more  intense  than  she  ever  had 
done  in  any  human  being  before.  Her  saintliness 
(for  Grace  was  a  saint  in  the  truest  sense  of  that 
word)  had  long  since  made  her  free  of  that  "  com- 
munion of  saints  "  which  consists  not  in  the  Phari- 
saic isolation  from  "the  world,"  not  in  the  mutual 
flatteries  and  congratulations  of  a  self-conceited 
clique;  but  which  bears  the  sins  and  carries  the 
sorrows  of  all  around :  whose  atmosphere  is  dis- 
appointed hopes  and  plans  for  good,  and  the  in- 
dignation which  hates  the  sin  because  it  loves  the 
sinner,  and  sacred  fear  and  pity  for  the  self-inflicted 
miseries  of  those  who  might  be  (so  runs  the  dream, 
and  will  run  till  it  becomes  a  waking  reality)  strong, 
and  free,  and  safe,  by  being  good  and  wise.  To 
such  a  spirit  this  bold  cunning  man  had  come, 
stiff-necked  and  heaven-defiant,  a  "  brand  plucked 
from  the  burning :  "  and  yet  equally  unconscious  of 
his  danger,  and  thankless  for  his  respite.  Given, 
too,  as  it  were,  into  her  hands ;  tossed  at  her  feet 
out  of  the  very  mouth  of  the  pit  —  why  but  that 
she  might  save  him?  A  far  duller  heart,  a  far 


The  Way  to  Win  Them          155 

narrower  imagination  than  Grace's  would  have  done 
what  Grace's  did  —  concentrate  themselves  round 
the  image  of  that  man  with  all  the  love  of  woman. 
For,  ere  long,  Grace  found  that  she  did  love  that 
man,  as  a  woman  loves  but  once  in  her  life ;  per- 
haps in  all  time  to  come.  She  found  that  her 
heart  throbbed,  her  cheek  flushed,  when  his  name 
was  mentioned ;  that  she  watched,  almost  unawares 
to  herself,  for  his  passing ;  and  she  was  not  ashamed 
at  the  discovery.  It  was  a  sort  of  melancholy 
comfort  to  her  that  there  was  a  great  gulf  fixed 
between  them.  His  station,  his  acquirements,  his 
great  connections  and  friends  in  London  (for  all 
Tom's  matters  were  the  gossip  of  the  town,  as, 
indeed,  he  took  care  that  they  should  be),  made  it 
impossible  that  he  should  ever  think  of  her ;  and 
therefore  she  held  herself  excused  for  thinking  of 
him,  without  any  fear  of  that  "  self-seeking,"  and 
"  inordinate  affection,"  and  "  unsanctified  passions," 
which  her  religious  books  had  taught  her  to  dread. 
Besides,  he  was  not  "  a  Christian."  That  five  min- 
utes on  the  shore  had  told  her  that;  and  even  if 
her  station  had  been  the  same  as  his,  she  must  not 
be  "  unequally  yoked  with  an  unbeliever."  And 
thus  the  very  hopelessness  of  her  love  became  its 
food  and  strength;  the  feeling  which  she  would 
have  checked  with  maidenly  modesty,  had  it  been 
connected  even  remotely  with  marriage,  was  allowed 
to  take  immediate  and  entire  dominion ;  and  she 
held  herself  permitted  to  keep  him  next  her  heart 
of  hearts,  because  she  could  do  nothing  for  him 
but  pray  for  his  conversion. 

And  pray  for  him  she  did,  the  noble,  guileless 
girl,  day  and  night,  that  he  might  be  converted ; 
that  he  might  prosper,  and  become  —  perhaps  rich, 


156  Two  Years  Ago 

at  least  useful ;  a  mighty  instrument  in  some  good 
work.  And  then  she  would  build  up  one  beautiful 
castle  in  the  air  after  another,  out  of  her  fancies 
about  what  such  a  man,  whom  she  had  invested  in 
her  own  mind  with  all  the  wisdom  of  Solomon, 
might  do  if  his  "  talents  were  sanctified."  Then 
she  prayed  that  he  might  recover  his  lost  gold  — 
when  it  was  good  for  him ;  that  he  might  discover 
the  thief:  no  — that  would  only  involve  fresh  shame 
and  sorrow ;  that  the  thief,  then,  might  be  brought 
to  repentance,  and  confession,  and  restitution. 
That  was  the  solution  of  the  dark  problem,  and  for 
that  she  prayed ;  while  her  face  grew  sadder  and 
sadder  day  by  day. 

For  a  while,  over  and  above  the  pain  which  the 
theft  caused  her,  there  came  —  how  could  it  be 
otherwise  ?  —  sudden  pangs  of  regret  that  this  same 
love  was  hopeless,  at  least  upon  this  side  of  the 
grave.  Inconsistent  they  were  with  the  chivalrous 
unselfishness  of  her  usual  temper ;  and  as  such  she 
dashed  them  from  her,  and  conquered  them,  after 
a  while,  by  a  method  which  many  a  woman  knows 
too  well.  It  was  but  "  one  cross  more ;  "  a  natural 
part  of  her  destiny  —  the  child  of  sorrow  and 
heaviness  of  heart.  Pleasure  in  joy  she  was  never 
to  find  on  earth ;  she  would  find  it,  then,  in  grief. 
And  nursing  her  own  melancholy,  she  went  on  her 
way,  sad,  sweet,  and  steadfast,  and  lavished  more 
care  and  tenderness,  and  even  gaiety,  than  ever 
upon  her  neighbors'  children,  because  she  knew 
that  she  should  never  have  a  child  of  her 
own. 

But  there  is  a  third  damsel,  to  whom,  whether 
more  or  less  engaging  than  Grace  Harvey  or 
Miss  Heale,  my  readers  must  needs  be  introduced 


The  Way  to  Win  Them          1 57 

Let  Miss  Heale  herself  do  it,  with  eyes  full  of  jeal- 
ous curiosity. 

"There  is  a  foreign  letter  for  Mr.  Thurnall, 
marked  Montreal,  and  sent  on  here  from  Whit- 
bury,"  said  she,  one  morning  at  breakfast,  and  in  a 
significant  tone ;  for  the  address  was  evidently  in  a 
woman's  hand. 

"For  me  —  ah,  yes;  I  see,"  said  Tom,  taking 
it  carelessly,  and  thrusting  it  into  his  pocket. 

"  Won't  you  read  it  at  once,  Mr.  Thurnall?  I  'm 
sure  you  must  be  anxious  to  hear  from  friends 
abroad ;  "  with  an  emphasis  on  the  word  friends. 

"  I  have  a  good  many  acquaintances  all  over  the 
world,  but  no  friends  that  I  am  aware  of,"  said  Tom, 
and  went  on  with  his  breakfast. 

"Ah  —  but  some  people  are  more  than  friends. 
Are  the  Montreal  ladies  pretty,  Mr.  Thurnall  ?  " 

"  Don't  know ;  for  I  never  was  there." 

Miss  Heale  was  silent,  being  mystified  :  and,  more- 
over, not  quite  sure  whether  Montreal  was  in  India  or 
in  Australia  and  not  willing  to  show  her  ignorance. 

She  watched  Tom  through  the  glass  door  all  the 
morning  to  see  if  he  read  the  letter,  and  betrayed 
any  emotion  of  its  contents :  but  Tom  went  about 
his  business  as  usual,  and,  as  far  as  she  saw,  never 
read  it  at  all. 

However,  it  was  read  in  due  time ;  for,  finding 
himself  in  a  lonely  place  that  afternoon,  jTom 
pulled  it  out  with  an  anxious  face,  and  read  a 
letter  written  in  a  hasty  ill-formed  hand,  under- 
scored at  every  fifth  word,  and  plentifully  bedecked 
with  notes  of  exclamation. 

"What?  my  dearest  friend,  and  fortune  still  frowns 
upon  you  ?  Your  father  blind  and  ruined  1  Ah,  that  I 


158  Two  Years  Ago 

was  there  to  comfort  him  for  your  sake  !  And  ah,  that 
I  were  anywhere,  doing  any  drudgery,  which  might 
prevent  my  being  still  a  burden  to  my  benefactors. 
Not  that  they  are  unkind ;  not  that  they  are  not  angels  I 
I  told  them  at  once  that  you  could  send  me  no  more 
money  till  you  reached  England,  perhaps  not  then ;  and 
they  answered  that  God  would  send  it :  that  He  who  had 
sent  me  to  them  would  send  the  means  of  supporting 
me ;  and  ever  since  they  have  redoubled  their  kindness : 
but  it  is  intolerable,  this  dependence,  and  on  you,  too, 
who  have  a  father  to  support  in  his  darkness.  Oh,  how 
I  feel  for  you  !  But  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  pay  a  price 
for  this  dependence.  I  must  needs  be  staid  and  sober ; 
I  must  needs  dress  like  any  Quakeress;  I  must  not 
read  this  book  or  that;  and  my  Shelley  —  taken  from 
me,  I  suppose,  because  it  spoke  too  much  'Liberty,' 
though,  of  course,  the  reason  given  was  its  infidel 
opinions  —  is  replaced  by '  Law's  Serious  Call.'  'T  is  all 
right  and  good,  I  doubt  not :  but  it  is  very  dreary ;  as 
dreary  as  these  black  fir-forests,  and  brown  snake  fences, 
and  that  dreadful,  dreadful  Canadian  winter  which  is  past, 
which  went  to  my  very  heart,  day  after  day,  like  a 
sword  of  ice.  Another  such  winter,  and  I  shall  die,  as  one 
of  my  own  humming-birds  would  die,  did  you  cage 
him  here,  and  prevent  him  from  fleeing  home  to  the 
sunny  South  when  the  first  leaves  begin  to  fall.  Dear 
children  of  the  sun  !  my  heart  goes  forth  to  them ;  and 
the  whir  of  their  wings  is  music  to  me,  for  it  tells  me  of 
the  South,  the  glaring  South,  with  its  glorious  flowers, 
and  glorious  woods,  its  luxuriance,  life,  fierce  enjoyments 
—  let  fierce  sorrows  come  with  them,  if  it  must  be 
so !  Let  me  take  the  evil  with  the  good,  and  live  my 
rich  wild  life  through  bliss  and  agony,  like  a  true 
daughter  of  the  sun,  instead  of  crystallizing  slowly  here  into 
ice,  amid  countenances  rigid  with  respectability,  sharp- 
ened by  the  lust  of  gain ;  without  taste,  without  emotion, 


The  Way  to  Win  Them          159 

without  even  sorrow !  Let  who  will  be  the  stagnant 
mill-head,  crawling  in  its  ugly  spade-cut  ditch  to  turn  the 
mill.  Let  me  be  the  wild  mountain  brook,  which  foams 
and  flashes  over  the  rocks  —  what  if  they  tear  it  ?  —  it 
leaps  them  nevertheless,  and  goes  laughing  on  its  way. 
Let  me  go  thus,  for  weal  or  woe !  And  if  I  sleep  a 
while,  let  it  be  like  the  brook,  beneath  the  shade  of 
fragrant  magnolias  and  luxuriant  vines,  and  image,  mean- 
while, in  my  bosom  nothing  but  the  beauty  around. 

"Yes,  my  friend,  I  can  live  no  longer  this  dull 
chrysalid  life,  in  comparison  with  which,  at  times,  even 
that  past  dark  dream  seems  tolerable  —  for  amid  its 
lurid  smoke  were  flashes  of  brightness.  A  slave  ?  Well ; 
I  ask  myself  at  times,  and  what  were  women  meant  for 
but  to  be  slaves?  Free  them,  and  they  enslave  them- 
selves again,  or  languish  unsatisfied ;  for  they  must  love. 
And  what  blame  to  them  if  they  love  a  white  man, 
tyrant  though  he  be,  rather  than  a  fellow-slave  ?  If  the 
men  of  our  own  race  will  claim  us,  let  them  prove 
themselves  worthy  of  us !  Let  them  rise,  exterminate 
their  tyrants,  or,  failing  that,  show  that  they  know  how 
to  die.  Till  then,  those  who  are  the  masters  of  their 
bodies  will  be  masters  of  our  hearts.  If  they  crouch 
before  the  white  like  brutes,  what  wonder  if  we  look  up 
to  him  as  to  a  god?  Woman  must  worship,  or  be 
wretched.  Do  I  not  know  it?  Have  I  not  had  my 
dream  —  too  beautiful  for  earth?  Was  there  not  one 
whom  you  knew,  to  hear  whom  call  me  slave  would  have 
been  rapture ;  to  whom  I  would  have  answered  on  my 
knees,  Master,  I  have  no  will  but  yours?  But  that  is 
past —  past.  One  happiness  alone  was  possible  for  a 
slave,  and  even  that  they  tore  from  me ;  and  now  I 
have  no  thought,  no  purpose,  save  revenge. 

"These  good  people  bid  me  forgive  my  enemies. 
Easy  enough  for  them,  who  have  no  enemies  to  forgive. 
Forgive  ?  Forgive  injustice,  oppression,  baseness,  cruelty? 


160  Two  Years  Ago 

Forgive  the  devil,  and  bid  him  go  in  peace,  and  work 
his  wicked  will?  Why  have  they  put  into  my  hands, 
these  three  last  years,  books  worthy  of  a  free  nation  ?  — 
books  which  call  patriotism  divine ;  which  tell  me  how 
in  every  age  and  clime  men  have  been  called  heroes 
who  rose  against  their  conquerors ;  women  martyrs  who 
stabbed  their  tyrants,  and  then  died?  Hypocrites! 
Did  their  grandfathers  meekly  turn  the  other  cheek 
when  your  English  taxed  them  somewhat  too  heavily? 
Do  they  not  now  teach  every  school-child  to  glory  in 
their  own  Revolution,  their  own  Declaration  of  Inde- 
pendence, and  to  flatter  themselves  into  the  conceit  that 
they  are  the  lords  of  creation,  and  the  examples  of  the 
world,  because  they  asserted  that  sacred  right  of  resist- 
ance which  is  discovered  to  be  unchristian  in  the 
African?  They  will  free  us,  forsooth,  in  good  time  (is 
it  to  be  in  God's  good  time,  or  in  their  own?)  if  we 
will  but  be  patient  and  endure  the  rice-swamp,  the 
scourge,  the  slave-market,  and  shame  unspeakable,  a 
few  years  more,  till  all  is  ready  and  safe,  —  for  them. 
Dreamers  as  well  as  hypocrites !  What  nation  was 
ever  freed  by  others'  help  ?  I  have  been  reading  his- 
tory to  see,  — you  do  not  know  how  much  I  have  been 
reading,  —  and  I  find  that  freemen  have  always  freed 
themselves,  as  we  must  do ;  and  as  they  will  never  let 
us  do,  because  they  know  that  with  freedom  must  come 
retribution ;  that  our  Southern  tyrants  have  an  account 
to  render,  which  the  cold  Northerner  has  no  heart  to  see 
him  pay.  For,  after  all,  he  loves  the  Southerner  better 
than  the  slave ;  and  fears  him  more  also.  What  if  the 
Southern  aristocrat,  who  lords  it  over  him  as  the  panther 
does  over  the  ox,  should  transfer  (as  he  has  threatened 
many  a  time)  the  cowhide  from  the  negro's  loins  to  his? 
No ;  we  must  free  ourselves !  And  there  lives  one 
woman,  at  least,  who,  having  gained  her  freedom,  knows 
how  to  use  it  in  eternal  war  against  all  tyrants.  Oh,  I 


The  Way  to  Win  Them          161 

could  go  down,  I  think  at  moments,  down  to  New  Orleans 
itself,  with  a  brain  and  lips  of  fire,  and  speak  words  — 
you  know  how  I  could  speak  them  —  which  would  bring 
me  in  a  week  to  the  scourge,  perhaps  to  the  stake. 
The  scourge  I  could  endure.  Have  I  not  felt  it  already? 
Do  I  not  bear  its  scars  even  now,  and  glory  in  them ; 
for  they  were  won  by  speaking  as  a  woman  should 
speak?  And  even  the  fire! — Have  not  women  been 
martyrs  already?  and  could  not  I  be  one?  Might  not 
my  torments  madden  a  people  into  manhood,  and  my 
name  become  a  war-cry  in  the  sacred  fight  ?  And  yet, 
oh  my  friend,  life  is  sweet !  —  and  my  little  day  has 
been  so  dark  and  gloomy  !  —  may  I  not  have  one  hour's 
sunshine  ere  youth  and  vigor  are  gone,  and  my  swift- 
vanishing  Southern  womanhood  wrinkles  itself  up  into 
despised  old  age  ?  Oh,  counsel  me,  —  help  me,  my  friend, 
my  preserver,  my  true  master  now,  so  brave,  so  wise,  so 
all-knowing;  under  whose  mask  of  cynicism  lies  hid 
(have  I  not  cause  to  know  it  ?)  the  heart  of  a  hero. 

"  MARIE." 

If  Miss  Heale  could  have  watched  Tom's  face  as 
he  read,  much  more  could  she  have  heard  his 
words  as  he  finished,  all  jealousy  would  have 
passed  from  her  mind :  for  as  he  read,  the  cynical 
smile  grew  sharper  and  sharper,  forming  a  fit 
prelude  for  the  "  Little  fool !  "  which  was  his  only 
comment. 

"  I  thought  you  would  have  fallen  in  love  with 
some  honest  farmer  years  ago :  but  a  martyr  you 
sha'n't  be,  even  if  I  have  to  send  for  you  hither; 
though  how  to  get  you  bread  to  eat  I  don't  know. 
However,  you  have  been  reading  your  book,  it 
seems,  —  clever  enough  you  always  were,  and  too 
clever;  so  you  could  go  out  as  governess,  or 
something.  Why,  here  's  a  postscript  dated  three 


1 62  Two  Years  Ago 

months  afterwards !  Ah,  I  see ;  this  letter  was 
written  last  July,  in  answer  to  my  Australian  oYie. 
What's  the  meaning  of  this?"  And  he  began 
reading  again. 

"I  wrote  so  far;  but!  had  not  the  heart  to  send  it; 
it  was  so  full  of  repinings.  And  since  then,  —  must  I 
tell  the  truth  ?  —  I  have  made  a  step ;  do  not  call  it  a 
desperate  one ;  do  not  blame  me,  for  your  blame  I  can- 
not bear:  but  I  have  gone  on  the  stage.  There  was 
no  other  means  of  independence  open  to  me;  and  I 
had  a  dream,  I  have  it  still,  that  there,  if  anywhere,  I 
might  do  my  work.  You  told  me  that  I  might  become 
a  great  actress  :  I  have  set  my  heart  on  becoming  one ; 
on  learning  to  move  the  hearts  of  men,  till  the  time 
comes  when  I  can  tell  them,  show  them,  in  living  flesh 
and  blood,  upon  the  stage,  the  secrets  of  a  slave's  sor- 
rows, and  that  slave  a  woman.  The  time  has  not  come 
for  that  yet  here :  but  I  have  had  my  success  already, 
more  than  I  could  have  expected ;  and  not  only  in 
Canada,  but  in  the  States.  I  have  been  at  New  York, 
acting  to  crowded  houses.  Ah,  when  they  applauded 
me,  how  I  longed  to  speak !  to  pour  out  my  whole  soul 

to  them,  and  call  upon  them,  as  men,  to .    But  that 

will  come  in  time.  I  have  found  a  friend,  who  has 
promised  to  write  dramas  especially  for  me.  Merely 
republican  ones  at  first ;  in  which  I  can  give  full  vent 
to  my  passion,  and  hurl  forth  the  eternal  laws  of  liberty, 
which  their  consciences  may  —  must  —  at  last,  apply 
for  themselves.  But  soon,  he  says,  we  shall  be  able  to 
dare  to  approach  the  real  subject,  if  not  in  America, 
still  hi  Europe ;  and  then,  I  trust,  the  colored  actress 
will  stand  forth  as  the  championess  of  her  race,  of  all 
who  are  oppressed,  in  every  capital  in  Europe,  save, 
alas !  Italy  and  the  Austria  who  crushes  her.  I  have 
taken,  I  should  tell  you,  an  Italian  name.  It  was  better, 


The  Way  to  Win  Them          163 

I  thought,  to  hide  my  African  taint,  forsooth,  for  a  while. 
So  the  wise  New  Yorkers  have  been  feting,  as  Maria 
Cordifiarama,  the  white  woman  (for  am  I  not  fairer  than 
many  an  Italian  signora?),  whom  they  would  have 
looked  on  as  an  inferior  being  under  the  name  of  Marie 
Lavington :  though  there  is  finer  old  English  blood  run- 
ning in  my  veins,  from  your  native  Berkshire  they  say, 
than  in  many  a  Down- Easter's  who  hangs  upon  my  lips. 
Address  me  henceforth,  then,  as  La  Signora  Maria  Cor- 
difiamma.  I  am  learning  fast,  by  the  by,  to  speak 
Italian.  I  shall  be  at  Quebec  till  the  end  of  the  month. 
Then,  I  believe,  I  come  to  London ;  and  we  shall  meet 
once  more ;  and  I  shall  thank  you,  thank  you,  thank 
you,  once  more,  for  all  your  marvellous  kindness." 

"  Humph !  "  said  Tom,  after  a  while.  "  Well, 
she  is  old  enough  to  choose  for  herself.  Five-and- 
twenty  she  must  be  by  now.  .  .  .  As  for  the  stage, 
I  suppose  it  is  the  best  place  for  her ;  better,  at 
least,  than  turning  governess,  and  going  mad,  as 
she  would  do,  over  her  drudgery  and  her  dreams. 
But  who  is  this  friend?  Singing-master,  scribbler, 
or  political  refugee?  or  perhaps  all  three  together? 
A  dark  lot,  those  fellows.  I  must  keep  my  eye 
on  him,  though  it 's  no  concern  of  mine.  I  Ve 
done  my  duty  by  the  poor  thing ;  the  devil  him- 
self can't  deny  that.  But  somehow,  if  this  play- 
writing  worthy  plays  her  false,  I  feel  very  much 
as  if  I  should  be  fool  enough  to  try  whether  I 
have  forgotten  my  pistol-shooting." 


Vol.  10— H 


CHAPTER  VI 

AN  OLD  FOE  WITH  A  NEW  FACE 

«npHIS   child's   head   is   dreadfully  hot;    and 

J.  how  yellow  he  does  look ! "  says  Mrs. 
Vavasour,  fussing  about  in  her  little  nursery. 
"  Oh,  Clara,  what  shall  I  do  ?  I  really  dare  not 
give  them  any  more  medicine  myself;  and  that 
horrid  old  Dr.  Heale  is  worse  than  no  one." 

"Ah,  ma'am,"  says  Clara,  who  is  privileged  to 
bemoan  herself,  and  to  have  sad  confidences  made 
to  her,  "  if  we  were  but  in  town  now,  to  see  Mr. 
Chilvers,  or  any  one  that  could  be  trusted ;  but  in 
this  dreadful  out-of-the-way  place  — —  " 

"  Don't  talk  of  that,  Clara !  Oh,  what  will  be- 
come of  the  poor  children  ?  "  And  Mrs.  Vavasour 
sits  down  and  cries,  as  she  does  three  times  at 
least  every  week. 

"  But  indeed,  ma'am,  if  you  thought  you  could 
trust  him,  there  is  that  new  assistant " 

"The  man  who  was  saved  from  the  wreck? 
Why,  nobody  knows  who  he  is." 

"  Oh,  but  indeed,  ma'am,  he  is  a  very  nice  gen- 
tleman, I  can  say  that ;  and  so  wonderfully  clever ; 
and  has  cured  so  many  people  already,  they  say, 
and  got  down  a  lot  of  new  medicines  (for  he  has 
great  friends  among  the  doctors  in  town),  and 
such  a  wonderful  magnifying  glass,  with  which  he 
showed  me  himself,  as  I  dropped  into  the  shop 


An  Old  Foe  with  a  New  Face      165 

promiscuous,  such  horrible  things,  ma'am,  in  a 
drop  of  water,  that  I  haven't  dared  hardly  to 
wash  my  face  since." 

"And  what  good  will  the  magnifying  glass  do 
to  us?"  says  the  poor  little  Irish  soul,  laughing 
up  through  its  tears.  "  He  won't  want  it  to  see 
how  ill  poor  Frederick  is,  I  'm  sure ;  but  you  may 
send  for  him,  Clara." 

"  I  '11  go  myself,  ma'am,  and  make  sure,"  says 
Clara;  glad  enough  of  a  run,  and  chance  of  a 
chat  with  the  young  doctor. 

And  in  half  an  hour  Mr.  Thurnall  is  announced. 

Though  Mrs.  Vavasour  has  a  flannel  apron  on 
(for  she  will  wash  the  children  herself,  in  spite  of 
Elsley's  grumblings),  Tom  sees  that  she  is  a  lady ; 
and  puts  on,  accordingly,  his  very  best  manner, 
which,  as  his  experience  has  long  since  taught 
him,  is  no  manner  at  all. 

He  does  his  work  quietly  and  kindly,  and  bows 
himself  out. 

"  You  will  be  sure  to  send  the  medicine  imme- 
diately, Mr.  Thurnall." 

"  I  will  bring  it  myself,  madam ;  and,  if  you 
like,  administer  it.  I  think  the  young  gentleman 
has  made  friends  with  me  sufficiently  already." 

Tom  keeps  his  word,  and  is  back,  and  away 
again  to  his  shop,  in  a  marvellously  short  space, 
having  "struck  a  fresh  root,"  as  he  calls  it;  for  — 

"What  a  very  well-behaved  sensible  man  that 
Mr.  Thurnall  is,"  says  Lucia  to  Elsley,  an  hour 
after,  as  she  meets  him  coming  in  from  the  gar- 
den, where  he  has  been  polishing  his  "Wreck." 
"  I  am  sure  he  understands  his  business ;  he  was 
so  kind  and  quiet,  and  yet  so  ready,  and  seemed 
to  know  all  the  child's  symptoms  beforehand,  in 


1 66  Two  Years  Ago 

such  a  strange  way.  I  do  hope  he'll  stay  here. 
I  feel  happier  about  the  poor  children  than  I  have 
for  a  long  time." 

"Thurnall?"  asks  Elsley,  who  is  too  absorbed 
in  the  "  Wreck  "  to  ask  after  the  children  !  but  the 
name  catches  his  ear. 

"Mr.  Heale's  new  assistant  —  the  man  who  was 
wrecked,"  answers  she,  too  absorbed,  in  her  turn, 
in  the  children  to  notice  her  husband's  startled 
face. 

"  Thurnall  ?     Which  Thurnall  ?  " 

"Do  you  know  the  name?  It's  not  a  common 
one,"  says  she,  moving  to  the  door. 

"  No  —  not  a  common  one  at  all !  You  said 
the  children  were  not  well?" 

"  I  am  glad  that  you  thought  of  asking  after  the 
poor  things." 

"Why,  really,  my  dear "  But  before  he 

can  finish  his  excuse  (probably  not  worth  hear- 
ing), she  has  trotted  upstairs  again  to  the  nesti 
and  is  as  busy  as  ever.  Possibly  Clara  might  do 
the  greater  part  of  what  she  does,  and  do  it  bet- 
ter; but  still,  are  they  not  her  children?  Let 
those  who  will  call  a  mother's  care  mere  animal 
instinct,  and  liken  it  to  that  of  the  sparrow  or  the 
spider;  shall  we  not  rather  call  it  a  Divine  inspira- 
tion, and  doubt  whether  the  sparrow  and  the  spider 
must  not  have  souls  to  be  saved,  if  they,  too,  show 
forth  that  faculty  of  maternal  love  which  is,  of  all 
human  feelings,  most  inexplicable  and  most  self- 
sacrificing;  and  therefore,  surely,  most  heavenly? 
If  that  does  not  come  down  straight  from  heaven, 
a  "good  and  perfect  gift,"  then  what  is  heaven, 
and  what  the  gifts  which  it  sends  down? 

But  poor  Elsley  may  have  had  solid  reasons  for 


An  Old  Foe  with  a  New  Face     1 67 

thinking  more  of  the  name  of  Thurnall  than  of  his 
children's  health ;  we  will  hope  so  for  his  sake ;  for, 
after  sundry  melodramatic  pacings  and  starts  (Els- 
ley  was  of  a  melodramatic  turn,  and  fond  of  a  scene, 
even  when  he  had  no  spectator,  not  even  a  looking- 
glass)  ;  besides  ejaculations  of  "  It  cannot  be !  " 
"If  it  were!"  "I  trust  not!"  "A  fresh  ghost  to 
torment  me !  "  "  When  will  come  the  end  of  this 
accursed  coil  which  I  have  wound  round  my  life  ?" 
and  so  forth,  he  decided  aloud  that  the  suspense 
was  intolerable ;  and  enclosing  himself  in  his  poeti- 
cal cloak  and  Mazzini  wide-awake,  strode  down  to 
the  town,  and  into  the  shop.  And  as  he  entered 
it,  "  his  heart  sank  to  his  midriff,  and  his  knees  be- 
low were  loosed."  For  there,  making  up  pills,  in 
a  pair  of  brown-holland  sleeves  of  his  own  manu- 
facture (for  Tom  was  a  good  seamster,  as  all  trav- 
ellers should  be),  whistled  Lilliburlero,  as  of  old, 
the  Tom  of  other  days,  which  Elsley's  muse  would 
fain  have  buried  in  a  thousand  Lethes. 

Elsley  came  forward  to  the  counter  carelessly, 
nevertheless,  after  a  moment.  "  What  with  my 
beard,  and  the  lapse  of  time,"  thought  he,  "  he  can- 
not know  me."  So  he  spoke : 

"  I  understand  you  have  been  visiting  my  chil- 
dren, sir.  I  hope  you  did  not  find  them  seriously 
indisposed  ?  " 

"Mr.  Vavasour?"  says  Tom,  with  a  low 
bow. 

"  I  am  Mr.  Vavasour !  "  But  Elsley  was  a  bad 
actor,  and  hesitated  and  colored  so  much  as  he 
spoke,  that  if  Tom  had  known  nothing,  he  might 
have  guessed  something. 

"Nothing  serious,  I  assure  you,  sir;  unless  you 
are  come  to  announce  any  fresh  symptom." 


1 68  Two  Years  Ago 

"  Oh,  no  —  not  at  all  —  that  is  —  I  was  passing 
on  my  way  to  the  quay,  and  thought  it  as  well  to 
have  your  own  assurance;  Mrs.  Vavasour  is  so 
over-anxious." 

"  You  seem  to  partake  of  her  infirmity,  sir,"  says 
Tom,  with  a  smile  and  a  bow.  "  However,  it  is  one 
which  does  you  both  honor." 

An  awkward  pause. 

"  I  hope  I  am  not  taking  a  liberty,  sir ;  but  I 
think  I  am  bound  to " 

"What  in  heaven  is  he  going  to  say?"  thought 
Elsley  to  himself,  feeling  very  much  inclined  to  run 
away. 

"  Thank  you  for  all  the  pleasure  and  instruction 
which  your  writings  have  given  me  in  lonely  hours, 
and  lonely  places  too.  Your  first  volume  of  poems 
has  been  read  by  one  man,  at  least,  beside  wild 
watch-fires  in  the  Rocky  Mountains." 

Tom  did  not  say  that  he  pitched  the  said  vol- 
ume into  the  river  in  disgust;  and  that  it  was, 
probably,  long  since  used  up  as  house  material  by 
the  caddis-baits  of  those  parts,  —  for  doubtless 
there  are  caddises  there  as  elsewhere. 

Poor  Elsley  rose  at  the  bait,  and  smiled  and 
bowed  in  silence. 

"  I  have  been  so  long  absent  from  England,  and 
in  utterly  wild  countries,  too,  that  I  need  hardly  be 
ashamed  to  ask  if  you  have  written  anything  since 
'  The  Soul's  Agonies '  ?  No  doubt  if  you  have,  I 
might  have  found  it  at  Melbourne,  on  my  way 
home ;  but  my  visit  there  was  a  very  hurried  one. 
However,  the  loss  is  mine,  and  the  fault  too,  as  I 
ought  to  call  it." 

"  Pray  make  no  excuses,"  says  Elsley,  delighted. 
"  I  have  written,  of  course.  Who  can  help  writing, 


An  Old  Foe  with  a  New  Face      169 

sir,  while  Nature  is  so  glorious,  and  man  so 
wretched?  One  cannot  but  take  refuge  from  the 
pettiness  of  the  real  in  the  contemplation  of  the 
ideal.  Yes,  I  have  written.  I  will  send  you  my 
last  book  down.  I  don't  know  whether  you  will 
find  me  improved." 

"  How  can  I  doubt  that  I  shall?  " 

"LSaddened,  perhaps ;  perhaps  more  severe  in  my 
taste ;  but  we  will  not  talk  of  that.  I  owe  you  a  debt, 
sir,  for  having  furnished  me  with  one  of  the  most 
striking  '  motifs '  I  ever  had.  I  mean  that  mirac- 
ulous escape  of  yours.  It  is  seldom  enough,  in 
this  dull  every-day  world,  one  stumbles  on  such  an 
incident  ready  made  to  one's  hands,  and  needing 
only  to  be  described  as  one  sees  it." 

And  the  weak,  vain  man  chatted  on,  and  ended 
by  telling  Tom  all  about  his  poem  of"  The  Wreck," 
in  a  tone  which  seemed  to  imply  that  he  had  done 
Tom  a  serious  favor,  perhaps  raised  him  to  im- 
mortality, by  putting  him  in  a  book. 

Tom  thanked  him  gravely  for  the  said  honor, 
bowed  him  at  last  out  of  the  shop,  and  then  vaulted 
back  clean  over  the  counter,  as  soon  as  Elsley  was 
out  of  sight,  and  commenced  an  Indian  war-dance 
of  frantic  character,  accompanying  himself  by  an 
extemporary  chant,  with  which  the  name  of  John 
Briggs  was  frequently  intermingled : 

" '  If  I  don't  know  you,  Johnny,  my  boy, 

In  spite  of  all  your  beard ; 
Why  then  I  am  a  slower  fellow, 
Than  ever  has  yet  appeared.' 

"  Oh  if  it  was  but  he !  what  a  card  for  me ! 
What  a  world  it  is  for  poor  honest  rascals  like  me 
to  try  a  fall  with  !  — 


170  Two  Years  Ago 

" « Why  did  n't  I  take  bad  verse  to  make, 

And  call  it  poetry  ; 

And  so  make  up  to  an  earl's  daughter, 
Which  was  of  high  degree  ? ' 

But  perhaps  I  am  wrong  after  all;  no — I  saw  he 
knew  me,  the  humbug;  though  he  never  was  a 
humbug,  never  rose  above  the  rank  of  fool.  How- 
ever, I  '11  make  assurance  doubly  sure,  and  then  — 
if  it  pays  me  not  to  tell  him  I  know  him,  I  won't 
tell  him ;  and  if  it  pays  me  to  tell  him,  I  will  tell 
him.  Just  as  you  choose,  my  good  Mr.  Poet." 
And  Tom  returned  to  his  work,  singing  an  extem- 
pore parody  of"  We  met,  'twas  in  a  crowd,"  ending 
with  — 

"  And  thou  art  the  cause  of  this  anguish,  my  pill-box," 

in  a  howl  so  doleful,  that  Mrs.  Heale  marched  into 
the  shop,  evidently  making  up  her  mind  for  an 
explosion. 

"  I  am  very  sorry,  sir,  to  have  to  speak  to  you 
upon  such  a  subject,  but  I  must  say,  that  the  profane 
songs,  sir,  which  our  house  is  not  at  all  accustomed 
to  them;  not  to  mention  that  at  your  time  of  life, 
and  in  your  position,  sir,  as  my  husband's  assistant, 
though  there  's  no  saying  "  (with  a  meaning  toss  of 
the  head)  "  how  long  it  may  last,"  —  and  there, 
her  grammar  having  got  into  a  hopeless  knot,  she 
stopped. 

Tom  looked  at  her  cheerfully  and  fixedly.  "  I 
had  been  expecting  this,"  said  he  to  himself. 
"  Better  show  the  old  cat  at  once  that  I  carry  claws 
as  well  as  she." 

"  There  is  saying,  madam,  humbly  begging 
your  pardon,  how  long  my  present  engagement 
will  last.  It  will  last  just  as  long  as  I  like." 


An  Old  Foe  with  a  New  Face     171 

Mrs.  Heale  boiled  over  with  rage ;  but  ere  the 
geyser  could  explode,  Tom  had  continued  in  that 
dogged,  nasal  Yankee  twang  which  he  assumed 
when  he  was  venomous : 

"As  for  the  songs,  ma'am,  there  are  two  ways 
of  making  oneself  happy  in  this  life;  you  can 
judge  for  yourself  which  is  best.  One  is  to  do 
one's  work  like  a  man,  and  hum  a  tune,  to  keep 
one's  spirits  up ;  the  other  is  to  let  the  work  go  to 
rack  and  ruin,  and  keep  one's  spirits  up,  if  one  is 
a  gentleman,  by  a  little  too  much  brandy ;  if  one  is 
a  lady,  by  a  little  too  much  laudanum." 

"Laudanum,  sir?"  almost  screamed  Mrs.  Heale, 
turning  pale  as  death. 

"  The  pint  bottle  of  best  laudanum,  which  I  had 
from  town  a  fortnight  ago,  ma'am,  is  now  nearly 
empty,  ma'am.  I  will  make  affidavit  that  I  have 
not  used  a  hundred  drops,  or  drunk  one.  I  sup- 
pose it  was  the  cat.  Cats  have  queer  tastes  in 
the  West,  I  believe.  I  have  heard  the  cat  coming 
downstairs  into  the  surgery,  once  or  twice  after  I 
was  in  bed ;  so  I  set  my  door  ajar  a  little,  and  saw,, 
her  come  up  again ;  but  whether  she  had  a  phial 
in  her  paws " 

"  Oh,  sir !  "  says  Mrs.  Heale,  bursting  into  tears. 
"And  after  the  dreadful  toothache  which  I  have 
had  this  fortnight,  which  nothing  but  a  little 
laudanum  would  ease  it ;  and  at  my  time  of  life, 
to  mock  a  poor  elderly  lady's  infirmities,  which  I 
did  not  look  for  this  cruelty  and  outrage  !  " 

"  Dry  your  tears,  my  dear  madam,"  says  Tom, 
in  his  most  winning  tone.  "  You  will  always  find 
me  the  thorough  gentleman,  I  am  sure.  If  I  had 
not  been  one,  it  would  have  been  easy  enough 
for  me,  with  my  powerful  London  connections,  — 


172  Two  Years  Ago 

though  I  won't  boast,  —  to  set  up  in  opposition  to 
your  good  husband,  instead  of  saving  him  labor 
in  his  good  old  age.  Only,  my  dear  madam,  how 
shall  I  get  the  laudanum-bottle  refilled  without  the 
doctor's  — you  understand  ?  " 

The  wretched  old  woman  hurried  upstairs,  and 
brought  him  down  a  half-sovereign  out  of  her 
private  hoard,  trembling  like  an  aspen  leaf,  and 
departed. 

"  So  —  scotched,  but  not  killed.  You  '11  gossip 
and  lie  too.  Never  trust  a  laudanum  drinker. 
You  '11  see  me,  by  the  eye  of  imagination,  com- 
mitting all  the  seven  deadly  sins;  and  by  the 
tongue  of  inspiration  go  forth  and  proclaim  the 
same  at  the  town-head.  I  can't  kill  you,  and  I 
can't  cure  you,  so  I  must  endure  you.  What  said 
old  Goethe,  in  all  the  German  I  ever  cared  to 
recollect : 

" '  Der  Wallfisch  hat  doch  seine  Laus ; 
Muss  auch  die  meine  haben.' 

"  Now,  then,  for  Mrs.  Penberthy's  draughts.  I 
wonder  how  that  pretty  schoolmistress  goes  on. 
If  she  were  but  honest,  now,  and  had  fifty  thousand 
pounds  —  why  then,  she  would  n't  marry  me ;  and 
so  why  now,  I  would  n't  marry  she,  —  as  my  native 
Berkshire  grammar  would  render  it" 


CHAPTER  VII 

LA  CORDIFIAMMA 

THIS  chapter  shall  begin,  good  reader,  with  one 
of  those  startling  bursts  of  "  illustration," 
with  which  our  most  popular  preachers  are  wont 
now  to  astonish  and  edify  their  hearers,  and  after 
starting  with  them  at  the  opening  of  the  sermon 
from  the  north  pole,  the  Crystal  Palace,  or  the 
nearest  cabbage-garden,  float  them  safe,  upon  the 
gushing  stream  of  oratory,  to  the  safe  and  well- 
known  shores  of  doctrinal  common-place,  lost  in 
admiration  at  the  skill  of  the  good  man  who  can 
thus  make  all  roads  lead,  if  not  to  heaven,  at  least 
to  strong  language  about  its  opposite.  True,  the 
logical  sequence  of  their  periods  may  be,  like  that 
of  the  coming  one,  somewhat  questionable,  re- 
minding one  at  moments  of  Fluellen's  comparison 
between  Macedon  and  Monmouth,  Henry  the 
Fifth  and  Alexander:  but,  in  the  logic  of  the  pul- 
pit, all 's  well  that  ends  well,  and  the  end  must 
needs  sanctify  the  means.  There  is,  of  course,  some 
connection  or  other  between  all  things  in  heaven 
and  earth,  or  how  would  the  universe  hold  to- 
gether? And  if  one  has  not  time  to  find  out  the 
true  connection,  what  is  left  but  to  invent  the  best 
one  can  for  oneself?  Thus  argues,  probably,  the 
popular  preacher,  and  fills  his  pews,  proving  there- 
by clearly  the  excellence  of  his  method.  So  argue 
also,  probably,  the  popular  poets,  to  whose  "  luxuri- 


174  Two  Years  Ago 

ant  fancy "  everything  suggests  anything,  and 
thought  plays  leap-frog  with  thought  down  one 
page  and  up  the  next,  till  one  fancies  at  moments 
that  they  had  got  permission  from  the  higher 
powers,  before  looking  at  the  universe,  to  stir  it  all 
up  a  few  times  with  a  spoon.  It  is  notorious,  of 
course,  that  poets  and  preachers  alike  pride 
themselves  upon  this  method  of  astonishing;  that 
the  former  call  it,  "  seeing  the  infinite  in  the 
finite ;  "  the  latter,  "  pressing  secular  matters  into 
the  service  of  the  sanctuary,"  and  other  pretty 
phrases  which,  for  reverence'  sake,  shall  be 
omitted.  No  doubt  they  have  their  reasons  and 
their  reward.  The  style  takes;  the  style  pays; 
and  what  more  would  you  have  ?  Let  them  go  on 
rejoicing,  in  spite  of  the  cynical  pedants  in  the 
"  Saturday  Review  "  who  dare  to  accuse  (will  it  be 
believed  ?)  these  luminaries  of  the  age  of  talking 
merely  irreverent  nonsense.  Meanwhile,  so  evi- 
dent is  the  success  (sole  test  of  merit)  which  has 
attended  the  new  method,  that  it  is  worth  while 
trying  whether  it  will  not  be  as  taking  in  the  novel 
as  it  is  in  the  chapel;  and  therefore  the  reader 
is  requested  to  pay  special  attention  to  the  follow- 
ing paragraph,  modelled  carefully  after  the  exor- 
diums of  a  famous  Irish  preacher,  now  drawing 
crowded  houses  at  the  West  End  of  Town.  As 
thus :  —  "It  is  the  pleasant  month  of  May,  when,  as 
in  old  Chaucer's  time,  the  — 

u ' .  .  .  Smale  foules  maken  melodic, 
That  slepen  alle  night  with  open  eye 
So  priketh  hem  nature  in  hir  corages. 
Then  longen  folk  to  gon  on  pilgrimages, 
And  specially  from  every  shire's  end 
Of  Englelond,  to  Exeter-hall  they  wend,' " 


La  Cordifiamma  175 

till  the  low  places  of  the  Strand  blossom  with  white 
cravats,  those  lilies  of  the  valley,  types  of  meek- 
ness and  humility,  at  least  in  the  pious  palmer  — 
and  why  not  of  similar  virtues  in  the  undertaker, 
the  concert-singer,  the  groom,  the  tavern-waiter, 
the  croupier  at  the  gaming-table,  and  Frederick 
Augustus  Lord  Scoutbush,  who,  white-cravated 
like  the  rest,  is  just  getting  into  his  cab  at  the  door 
of  the  Never-mind-what  Theatre,  to  spend  an  hour 
at  Kensington  before  sauntering  in  to  Lady 
M 's  ball? 

Why  not,  I  ask,  at  least  in  the  case  of  little 
Scoutbush?  For  Guardsman  though  he  be,  com- 
ing from  a  theatre  and  going  to  a  ball,  there  is 
meekness  and  humility  in  him  at  this  moment,  as 
well  as  in  the  average  of  the  white-cravated  gentle- 
men who  trotted  along  that  same  pavement  about 
eleven  o'clock  this  forenoon.  Why  should  not  his 
white  cravat,  like  theirs,  be  held  symbolic  of  that 
fact?  However,  Scoutbush  belongs  rather  to  the 
former  than  the  latter  of  Chaucer's  categories ;  for 
a  "  smale  foule "  he  is,  a  little  bird-like  fellow, 
who  maketh  melodic  also,  and  warbles  like  a  cock- 
robin  ;  we  cannot  liken  him  to  any  more  dignified 
songster.  Moreover,  he  will  sleep  all  night  with 
open  eye;  for  he  will  not  be  in  bed  till  five  to- 
morrow morning;  and  pricked  he  is,  and  that 
sorely,  in  his  courage ;  for  he  is  as  much  in  love 
as  his  little  nature  can  be,  with  the  new  actress, 
La  Signora  Cordifiamma,  of  the  Never-mind-what 
Theatre. 

How  exquisitely,  now  (for  this  is  one  of  the  rare 
occasions  in  which  a  man  is  permitted  to  praise 
himself),  is  established  hereby  an  unexpected  bond 
of  linked  sweetness  long  drawn  out  between  things 


176  Two  Years  Ago 

which  had,  ere  they  came  beneath  the  magic  touch 
of  genius,  no  more  to  do  with  each  other  than  this 
book  has  with  the  Stock  Exchange.  Who  would 
have  dreamed  of  travelling  from  the  Tabard  in 
Southwark  to  the  last  new  singer,  vid^  Exeter-hall 
and  the  lilies  of  the  valley,  and  touching  en  passant 
on  two  cardinal  virtues  and  an  Irish  Viscount? 
But  see ;  given  only  a  little  impudence,  and  less 
logic,  and  hey  presto  !  the  thing  is  done ;  and  all 
that  remains  to  be  done  is  to  dilate  (as  the  Rev. 
Dionysius  O'Blareaway  would  do  at  this  stage  of 
the  process)  upon  the  moral  question  which  has 
been  so  cunningly  raised,  and  to  inquire,  firstly, 
how  the  virtues  of  meekness  and  humility  could  be 
predicated  of  Frederick  Augustus  St.  Just,  Vis- 
count Scoutbush  and  Baron  Torytown,  in  the  peer- 
age of  Ireland ;  and  secondly,  how  those  virtues 
were  called  into  special  action  by  his  questionably 
wise  attachment  to  a  new  actress,  to  whom  he  had 
never  spoken  a  word  in  his  life. 

First,  then,  "Little  Freddy  Scoutbush,"  as  his 
compeers  irreverently  termed  him,  was,  by  com- 
mon consent  of  her  Majesty's  Guards,  a  "  good 
fellow."  Whether  the  St.  James'  Street  definition 
of  that  adjective  be  the  perfect  one  or  not,  we  will 
not  stay  to  inquire ;  but  in  the  Guards'  club-house 
it  meant  this :  that  Scoutbush  had  not  an  enemy 
in  the  world,  because  he  deserved  none ;  that  he 
lent,  and  borrowed  not;  gave,  and  asked  not 
again ;  envied  not ;  hustled  not ;  slandered  not ; 
never  bore  malice,  never  said  a  cruel  word,  never 
played  a  dirty  trick,  would  hear  a  fellow's  troubles 
out  to  the  end,  and  if  he  could  not  counsel,  at  least 
would  not  laugh  at  them,  and  at  all  times  and  in 
all  places  lived  'and  let  live,  and  was  accordingly  a 


La  Cordifiamma  177 

general  favorite.  His  morality  was  neither  better 
nor  worse  than  the  average  of  his  companions; 
but  if  he  was  sensual,  he  was  at  least  not  base  ; 
and  there  were  frail  women  who  blessed  "  little 
Freddy,"  and  his  shy  and  secret  generosity,  for 
having  saved  them  from  the  lowest  pit. 

Au  resUy  he  was  idle,  frivolous,  useless:  but 
with  these  two  palliating  facts,  that  he  knew  it  and 
regretted  it,  and  that  he  never  had  a  chance  of 
being  aught  else.  His  father  and  mother  had 
died  when  he  was  a  child.  He  had  been  sent  to 
Eton  at  seven,  where  he  learnt  nothing,  and  into 
the  Guards  at  seventeen,  where  he  learnt  less  than 
nothing.  His  aunt,  old  Lady  Knockdown,  who 
was  a  kind  old  Irish  woman,  an  ex-blue  and  ex- 
beauty,  now  a  high  evangelical  professor,  but  as 
worldly  as  her  neighbors  in  practice,  had  tried  to 
make  him  a  good  boy  in  old  times :  but  she  had 
given  him  up,  long  before  he  left  Eton,  as  a  "  ves- 
sel of  wrath  "  (which  he  certainly  was,  with  his  hot 
Irish  temper)  ;  and  since  then  she  had  only  spoken 
of  him  with  moans,  and  to  him  just  as  if  he  and 
she  had  made  a  compact  to  be  as  worldly  as  they 
could,  and  as  if  the  fact  that  he  was  going,  as  she 
used  to  tell  her  private  friends,  straight  to  the 
wrong  place,  was  to  be  utterly  ignored  before  the 
pressing  reality  of  getting  him  and  his  sisters  well 
married.  And  so  it  befell  that  Lady  Knockdown, 
like  many  more,  having  begun  with  too  high  (or 
at  least  precise)  a  spiritual  standard,  was  forced  to 
end  practically  in  having  no  standard  at  all ;  and 
that  for  ten  years  of  Scoutbush's  life,  neither  she 
nor  any  other  human  being  had  spoken  to  him  as 
if  he  had  a  soul  to  be  saved,  or  any  duty  on  earth 
save  to  eat,  drink,  and  be  merry. 


178  Two  Years  Ago 

And  all  the  while  there  was  a  quaint  and  pa- 
thetic consciousness  in  the  little  man's  heart  that 
he  was  meant  for  something  better ;  that  he  was  no 
fool,  and  was  not  intended  to  be  one.  He  would 
thrust  his  head  into  lectures  at  the  Polytechnic 
and  the  British  Institution,  with  a  dim  endeavor 
to  guess  what  they  were  all  about,  and  a  good- 
natured  envy  of  the  clever  fellows  who  knew  about 
"  science,  and  all  that."  He  would  sit  and  listen, 
puzzled  and  admiring,  to  the  talk  of  statesmen, 
and  confide  his  woe  afterwards  to  some  chum. 
"  Ah,  if  I  had  had  the  chance  now  that  my  cousin 
Chalkclere  has  !  If  I  had  had  two  or  three  tutors, 
and  a  good  mother,  too,  keeping  me  in  a  coop, 
and  cramming  me  with  learning,  as  they  cram 
chickens  for  the  market,  I  fancy  I  could  have 
shown  my  comb  and  hackles  in  the  House  as  well 
as  some  of  them.  I  fancy  I  could  make  a  speech 
in  Parliament  now,  with  the  help  of  a  little  Irish 
impudence,  if  I  only  knew  anything  to  speak 
about." 

So  Scoutbush  clung,  in  a  childish  way,  to  any 
superior  man  who  would  take  notice  of  him,  and 
not  treat  him  as  the  fribble  which  he  seemed.  He 
had  taken  to  that  well-known  artist,  Claude  Mellot, 
of  late,  simply  from  admiration  of  his  brilliant  talk 
about  art  and  poetry ;  and  boldly  confessed  that 
he  preferred  one  of  Mellot's  orations  on  the  sub- 
lime and  beautiful,  though  he  did  n't  understand  a 
word  of  them,  to  the  songs  and  jokes  (very  excel- 
lent ones  in  their  way)  of  Mr.  Hector  Harkaway, 
the  distinguished  Irish  novelist,  and  boon  com- 
panion of  her  Majesty's  Life  Guards  Green.  His 
special  intimate  and  mentor,  however,  was  a  cer- 
tain Major  Campbell,  of  whom  more  hereafter; 


La  Cordifiamma  179 

who,  however,  being  a  lofty-minded  and  perhaps 
somewhat  Pharisaic  person,  made  heavier  demands 
on  Scoutbush's  conscience  than  he  had  yet  been 
able  to  meet ;  for  fully  as  he  agreed  that  Hercules' 
choice  between  pleasure  and  virtue  was  the  right 
one,  still  he  could  not  yet  follow  that  ancient  hero 
along  the  thorny  path,  and  confined  his  concep- 
tion of  "duty"  to  the  minimum  guard  and  drill. 
He  had  estates  in  Ireland,  which  had  almost 
cleared  themselves  during  his  long  minority,  but 
which,  since  the  famine,  had  cost  him  about  as 
much  as  they  brought  him  in  ;  and  estates  in  the 
West,  which,  with  a  Welsh  slate-quarry,  brought 
him  in  some  seven  or  eight  thousand  a  year ;  and 
so  kept  his  poor  little  head  above  water,  to  look 
pitifully  round  the  universe,  longing  for  the  life  of 
him  to  make  out  what  it  all  meant,  and  hoping  that 
somebody  would  come  and  tell  him. 

So  much  for  his  meekness  and  humility  in 
general:  as  for  the  particular  display  of  those 
virtues  which  he  has  shown  to-day,  it  must  be 
understood  that  he  has  given  a  promise  to  Mrs. 
Mellot  not  to  make  love  to  La  Cordifiamma ;  and, 
on  that  only  condition,  has  been  allowed  to  meet 
her  to-night  at  one  of  Claude  Mellot's  petits 
soupers. 

La  Cordifiamma  has  been  staying,  ever  since 
she  came  to  England,  with  the  Mellots  in  the  wilds 
of  Brompton;  unapproachable  there,  as  in  all 
other  places.  In  public,  she  is  a  very  Zenobia, 
who  keeps  all  animals  of  the  other  sex  at  an  awful 
distance ;  and  of  the  fifty  young  puppies  who  are 
raving  about  her  beauty,  her  air,  and  her  voice, 
not  one  has  obtained  an  introduction;  while 
Claude,  whose  studio  used  to  be  a  favorite  lounge 


180  Two  Years  Ago 

of  young  Guardsmen,  has,  as  civilly  as  he  can, 
closed  his  doors  to  those  magnificent  personages 
ever  since  the  new  singer  became  his  guest. 

Claude  Mellot  seems  to  have  come  into  a  for- 
tune of  late  years,  large  enough,  at  least,  for  his 
few  wants.  He  paints  no  longer,  save  when  he 
chooses ;  and  has  taken  a  little  old  house  in  one  of 
those  back  lanes  of  Brompton,  where  islands  of 
primaeval  nursery  garden  still  remain  undevoured 
by  the  advancing  surges  of  the  brick  and  mortar 
deluge.  There  he  lives,  happy  in  a  green  lawn, 
and  windows  opening  thereon;  in  three  elms,  a 
cork,  an  ilex,  and  a  mulberry,  with  a  great  stand- 
ard pear,  for  flower  and  foliage  the  queen  of  all 
suburban  trees.  There  he  lies  on  the  lawn,  upon 
strange  skins,  the  summer's  day,  playing  with  cats 
and  dogs,  and  making  love  to  his  Sabina,  who  has 
not  lost  her  beauty  in  the  least,  though  she  is  on 
the  wrong  side  of  five-and-thirty.  He  deludes 
himself,  too,  into  the  belief  that  he  is  doing  some- 
thing, because  he  is  writing  a  treatise  on  the 
"  Principles  of  Beauty ;  "  which  will  be  published, 
probably,  about  the  time  the  Thames  is  purified, 
in  the  season  of  Latter  Lammas  and  the  Greek 
Kalends;  and  the  more  certainly  so,  because  he 
has  wandered  into  the  abyss  of  conic  sections  and 
curves  of  double  curvature,  of  which,  if  the  truth 
must  be  spoken,  he  knows  no  more  than  his  friends 
of  the  Life  Guards  Green. 

To  this  charming  little  nest  has  Lord  Scoutbush 
procured  an  evening's  admission  after  abject  sup- 
plication to  Sabina,  who  pets  him  because  he  is 
musical,  and  solemn  promises  neither  to  talk  or 
look  any  manner  of  foolishness. 

"  My  dearest  Mrs.  Mellot,"  says  the  poor  wretch, 


La  Cordifiamma  1 8 1 

"I  will  be  good,  indeed  I  will;  I  will  not  even 
speak  to  her.  Only  let  me  sit  and  look,  —  and  — 
and,  —  why,  I  thought  you  understood  all  about 
such  things,  and  could  pity  a  poor  fellow  who  was 
spoony." 

And  Sabina,  who  prides  herself  much  on  under- 
standing such  things,  and  on  having,  indeed,  re- 
duced them  to  a  science  in  which  she  gives  gra- 
tuitous lessons  to  all  young  gentlemen  and  ladies  of 
her  acquaintance,  receives  him  pityingly,  in  that 
delicious  little  back  drawing-room,  whither  who- 
soever enters  is  in  no  hurry  to  go  out  again. 

Claude's  house  is  arranged  with  his  usual  de- 
fiance of  all  conventionalities.  Dining  or  drawing 
room  proper  there  is  none ;  the  large  front  room 
is  the  studio,  where  he  and  Sabina  eat  and  drink, 
as  well  as  work  and  paint ;  but  out  of  it  opens  a 
little  room,  the  walls  of  which  are  so  covered  with 
gems  of  art  (where  the  rogue  finds  money  to  buy 
them  is  a  puzzle)  that  the  eye  can  turn  nowhere 
without  taking  in  some  new  beauty,  and  wander- 
ing on  from  picture  to  statue,  from  portrait  to 
landscape,  dreaming  and  learning  afresh  after  every 
glance.  At  the  back,  a  glass  bay  has  been  thrown 
out,  and  forms  a  little  conservatory,  forever  fresh 
and  gay  with  tropic  ferns  and  flowers;  gaudy 
orchids  dangle  from  the  roof,  creepers  hide  the 
framework,  and  you  hardly  see  where  the  room 
ends  and  the  winter-garden  begins;  and  in  the 
center  an  ottoman  invites  you  to  lounge.  It  costs 
Claude  money,  doubtless;  but  he  has  his  excuse 
— "  Having  once  seen  the  tropics,  I  cannot  live 
without  some  love-tokens  from  their  lost  paradises ; 
and  which  is  the  wiser  plan,  to  spend  money  on  a 
horse  and  brougham,  which  we  don't  care  to  use, 


1 82  Two  Years  Ago 

and  on  scrambling  into  society  at  the  price  of  one 
great  stupid  party  a  year,  or  to  make  our  little 
world  as  pretty  as  we  can,  and  let  those  who  wish 
to  see  us,  take  us  as  they  find  us  ?  " 

In  this  "  nest,"  as  Claude  and  Sabina  call  it, 
sacred  to  the  everlasting  billing  and  cooing  of  that 
sweet  little  pair  of  human  love-birds  who  have 
built  it,  was  supper  set.  La  Cordifiamma,  all 
the  more  beautiful  from  the  languor  produced  by 
the  excitement  of  acting,  lay  upon  a  sofa ;  Claude 
attended,  talking  earnestly;  Sabina,  according  to 
her  custom,  was  fluttering  in  and  out,  and  arrang- 
ing supper  with  her  own  hands;  both  husband 
and  wife  were  as  busy  as  bees ;  and  yet  any  one 
accustomed  to  watch  the  little  ins  and  outs  of  mar- 
ried life,  could  have  seen  that  neither  forgot  for  a 
moment  that  the  other  was  in  the  room,  but  basked 
and  purred,  like  two  blissful  cats,  each  in  the  sun- 
shine of  the  other's  presence ;  and  he  could  have 
seen,  too,  that  La  Cordifiamma  was  divining  their 
thoughts,  and  studying  all  their  little  expressions, 
perhaps  that  she  might  use  them  on  the  stage ; 
perhaps,  too,  happy  in  sympathy  with  their  happi- 
ness :  and  yet  there  was  a  shade  of  sadness  on  her 
forehead. 

Scoutbush  enters,  is  introduced,  and  receives  a 
salutation  from  the  actress,  haughty  and  cold 
enough  to  check  the  forwardest ;  puts  on  the  air 
of  languid  nonchalance  which  is  considered  (or 
was  before  the  little  experiences  of  the  Crimea) 
fit  and  proper  for  young  gentlemen  of  rank  and 
fashion.  So  he  sits  down,  and  feasts  his  foolish 
eyes  upon  his  idol,  hoping  for  a  few  words  before 
the  evening  is  over.  Did  I  not  say  well,  then,  that 
there  was  as  much  meekness  and  humility  under 


La  Cordifiamma  183 

Scoutbush's  white  cravat  as  under  others?  But 
his  little  joy  is  soon  dashed ;  for  the  black  boy 
announces  (seemingly  much  to  his  own  pleasure) 
a  tall  personage,  whom,  from  his  dress  and  his 
moustachio,  Scoutbush  takes  for  a  Frenchman,  till 
he  hears  him  called  Stangrave.  The  intruder  is 
introduced  to  Lord  Scoutbush,  which  ceremony  is 
consummated  by  a  microscopic  nod  on  either  side; 
he  then  walks  straight  up  to  La  Cordifiamma;  and 
Scoutbush  sees  her  cheeks  flush  as  he  does  so. 
He  takes  her  hand,  speaks  to  her  in  a  low  voice, 
and  sits  down  by  her,  Claude  making  room  for 
him ;  and  the  two  engage  earnestly  in  conversa- 
tion. 

Scoutbush  is  much  inclined  to  walk  out  of  the 
room;  was  he  brought  there  to  see  that?  Of 
course,  however,  he  sits  still,  keeps  his  own  coun- 
sel, and  makes  himself  agreeable  enough  all  the 
evening,  like  a  good-natured  kind-hearted  little 
man,  as  he  is.  Whereby  he  is  repaid;  for  the 
conversation  soon  becomes  deep,  and  even  too 
deep  for  him ;  and  he  is  fain  to  drop  out  of  the 
race,  and  leave  it  to  his  idol  and  to  the  newcomer, 
who  seems  to  have  seen,  and  done,  and  read  every- 
thing in  heaven  and  earth,  and  probably  bought 
everything  also ;  not  to  mention  that  he  would  be 
happy  to  sell  the  said  universe  again,  at  a  very 
cheap  price,  if  any  one  would  kindly  take  it  off  his 
hands.  Not  that  he  boasts,  or  takes  any  undue 
share  of  the  conversation ;  he  is  evidently  too  well- 
bred  for  that ;  but  every  sentence  shows  an  ac- 
quaintance with  facts  of  which  Eton  has  told 
Scoutbush  nothing,  the  barrack-room  less,  and 
after  which  he  still  craves,  the  good  little  fellow, 
in  a  very  honest  way,  and  would  soon  have  learnt. 


184  Two  Years  Ago 

had  he  had  a  chance ;  for  of  native  Irish  smartness 
he  had  no  lack. 

"  Poor  Flake  was  half  mad  about  you,  signora, 
in  the  stage-box  to-night,"  said  Sabina.  "  He  says 
that  he  shall  not  sleep  till  he  has  painted  you." 

"  Do  let  him !  "  cried  Scoutbush :  "  what  a  pic- 
ture he  will  make  !  " 

"  He  may  paint  a  picture,  but  not  me ;  it  is 
quite  enough,  Lord  Scoutbush,  to  be  some  one 
else  for  two  hours  every  night,  without  going 
down  to  posterity  as  some  one  else  for  ever.  If  I 
am  painted,  I  will  be  painted  by  no  one  who  can- 
not represent  my  very  self." 

"  You  are  right !  "  said  Stangrave :  "  and  you  will 
do  the  man  himself  good  by  refusing;  he  has  some 
notion  still  of  what  a  portrait  ought  to  be.  If  he 
once  begins  by  attempting  passing  expressions  of 
passion,  which  is  all  stage  portraits  can  give,  he 
will  find  them  so  much  easier  than  honest  repre- 
sentations of  character,  that  he  will  end,  where  all 
our  moderns  seem  to  do,  in  merest  melodrama." 

"  Explain  !  "  said  she. 

"  Portrait  painters  now  depend  for  their  effect 
on  the  mere  accidents  of  entourage;  on  dress,  on 
landscape,  even  on  broad  hints  of  a  man's  occupa- 
tion, putting  a  plan  on  the  engineer's  table,  and  a 
roll  in  the  statesman's  hands,  like  the  old  Greek 
who  wrote  '  this  is  an  ox '  under  his  picture.  If 
they  wish  to  give  the  face  expression,  though  they 
seldom  aim  so  high,  all  they  can  compass  is  a  pass- 
ing emotion ;  and  one  sitter  goes  down  to  posterity 
with  an  eternal  frown,  another  with  an  eternal  smile." 

"  Or,  if  he  be  a  -poet,"  said  Sabina,  "  rolls  his 
eye  for  ever  in  a  fine  frenzy." 

% "  But  would  you  forbid  them  to  paint  passion  ?." 


La  Cordifiamma  185 

"Not  in  its  place;  when  the  picture  gives  the 
causes  of  the  passion,  and  the  scene  tells  its  own 
story.  But  then  let  us  not  have  merely  Kean  as 
Hamlet,  but  Hamlet's  self;  let  the  painter  sit  down 
and  conceive  for  himself  a  Hamlet,  such  as  Shake- 
speare conceived ;  not  merely  give  us  as  much  of 
him  as  could  be  pressed  at  a  given  moment  into 
the  face  of  Mr.  Kean.  He  will  be  only  unjust  to 
both  actor  and  character.  If  Flake  paints  Marie 
as  Lady  Macbeth,  he  will  give  us  neither  her  nor 
Lady  Macbeth ;  but  only  the  single  point  at  which 
their  two  characters  can  coincide." 

"  How  rude !  "  said  Sabina,  laughing ;  "  what  is  he 
doing  but  hinting  that  La  Signora's  conception  of 
Lady  Macbeth  is  a  very  partial  and  imperfect  one  ?" 

"  And  why  should  it  not  be  ?  "  asked  the  actress, 
humbly  enough. 

"  I  meant,"  he  answered  warmly,  "  that  there 
was  more,  far  more,  in  her  than  in  any  character 
which  she  assumes ;  and  I  do  not  want  a  painter 
to  copy  only  one  aspect,  and  let  a  part  go  down 
to  posterity  as  a  representation  of  the  whole." 

"  If  you  mean  that,  you  shall  be  forgiven.  No ; 
when  she  is  painted,  she  shall  be  painted  as  herself, 
as  she  is  now.  Claude  shall  paint  her." 

"  I  have  not  known  La  Signora  long  enough," 
said  Claude,  "  to  aspire  to  such  an  honor.  I  paint 
no  face  which  I  have  not  studied  for  a  year." 

"  Faith  I  "  said  Scoutbush,  "  you  would  find  no 
more  in  most  faces  at  the  year's  end,  than  you  did 
the  first  day." 

"Then  I  would  not  paint  them.  If  I  paint  a 
portrait,  which  I  seldom  do,  I  wish  to  make  it  such 
a  one  as  the  old  masters  aimed  at  —  to  give 
the  sum  total  of  the  whole  character;  traces  of 


1 86  Two  Years  Ago 

every  emotion,  if  it  were  possible,  and  glances  of 
every  expression  which  have  passed  over  it  since 
it  was  born  into  the  world.  They  are  all  here,  the 
whole  past  and  future  of  the  man ;  and  every  man, 
as  the  Mohammedans  say,  carries  his  destiny  on 
his  forehead." 

"  But  who  has  eyes  to  see  it?  " 

"  The  old  masters  had ;  some  of  them  at  least. 
Raphael  had,  Sebastian  del  Piombo  had,  and 
Titian,  and  Giorgione.  There  are  portraits  painted 
by  them  which  carry  a  whole  life-history  concen- 
trated into  one  moment." 

* 

"  But  they,"  said  Stangrave,  "  are  the  portraits 
of  men  such  as  they  saw  around  them;  natures 
who  were  strong  for  good  and  evil,  who  were  not 
ashamed  to  show  their  strength.  Where  will  a 
painter  find  such  among  the  poor,  thin,  unable 
mortals  who  come  to  him  to  buy  immortality  at 
a  hundred  and  fifty  guineas  apiece,  after  having 
spent  their  lives  in  religiously  rubbing  off  their 
angles  against  each  other,  and  forming  their  char- 
acters, as  you  form  shot,  by  shaking  them  together 
in  a  bag  till  they  have  polished  each  other  into 
dullest  uniformity?" 

"  It 's  very  true,"  said  Scoutbush,  who  suffered 
much  at  times  from  a  certain  wild  Irish  vein,  which 
stirred  him  up  to  kick  over  the  traces.  "  People 
are  horribly  like  each  other ;  and  if  a  poor  fellow 
is  bored,  and  tries  to  do  anything  spicy  or  original, 
he  has  half  a  dozen  people  pooh-poohing  him 
down  on  the  score  of  bad  taste." 

"  Men  can  be  just  as  original  now  as  ever,"  said 
La  Signora,  "  if  they  had  but  the  courage,  even 
the  insight.  Heroic  souls  in  old  times  had  no 
more  opportunities  than  we  have ;  but  they  used 


La  Cordifiamma  187 

them.  There  were  daring  deeds  to  be  done  then 
—  are  there  none  now?  Sacrifices  to  be  made  — 
are  there  none  now?  Wrongs  to  be  redressed  — 
are  there  none  now?  Let  any  one  set  his  heart, 
in  these  days,  to  do  what  is  right,  and  nothing  else ; 
and  it  will  not  be  long  ere  his  brow  is  stamped 
with  all  that  goes  to  make  up  the  heroical  expres- 
sion —  with  noble  indignation,  noble  self-restraint, 
great  hopes,  great  sorrows;  perhaps,  even,  with 
the  print  of  the  martyr's  crown  of  thorns." 

She  looked  at  Stangrave  as  she  spoke,  with  an 
expression  which  Scoutbush  tried  in  vain  to  read. 
The  American  made  no  answer,  and  seemed  to 
hang  his  head  awhile.  After  a  minute  he  said 
tenderly : 

"You  will  tire  yourself  if  you  talk  thus,  after 
the  evening's  fatigue.  Mrs.  Mellot  will  sing 
to  us,  and  give  us  leisure  to  think  over  our 
lesson." 

And  Sabina  sang;  and  then  Lord  Scoutbush 
was  made  to  sing ;  and  sang  his  best,  no  doubt. 

So  the  evening  slipped  on,  till  it  was  past  eleven 
o'clock,  and  Stangrave  rose.  "  And  now,"  said  he, 

"  I   must  go  to   Lady  M 's  ball ;     and   Marie 

must  rest." 

As  he  went,  he  just  leaned  over  La  Cordifiamma. 

"  Shall  I  come  in  to-morrow  morning?  We 
ought  to  read  over  that  scene  together  before  the 
rehearsal." 

"  Early  then,  or  Sabina  will  be  gone  out ;  and 
she  must  play  soubrette  to  our  hero  and  heroine." 

"You  will  rest?  Mrs.  Mellot,  you  will  see  that 
she  does  not  sit  up?  " 

"  It  is  not  very  polite  to  rob  us  of  her,  as  soon 
as  you  cannot  enjoy  her  yourself." 
Vol.  10— I 


1 88  Two  Years  Ago 

"  I  must  take  care  of  people  who  do  not  take 
care  of  themselves ;  "  and  Stangrave  departed. 

Great  was  Scoutbush's  wrath  when  he  saw  Marie 
rise  and  obey  orders.  "  Who  was  this  man?  what 
right  had  he  to  command  her  ?  " 

He  asked  as  much  of  Sabina  the  moment  La 
Cordifiamma  had  retired. 

"  Are  you  not  going  to  Lady  M 's,  too  ?  " 

"  No ;  that  is,  I  won't  go  yet ;  not  till  you  have 
explained  all  this  to  me." 

"Explained  what?"  asked  Sabina,  looking  as 
demure  as  a  little  brown  mouse. 

"Why,  what  did  you  ask  me  here  for?" 

"  Lord  Scoutbush  should  recollect  that  he  asked 
himself." 

.  "  You  cruel  venomous  creature !  do  you  think 
I  would  have  come,  if  I  had  known  that  I  was  to 
see  another  man  making  love  to  her  before  my 
very  eyes?  I  could  kill  the  fellow;  who  is  he?" 

"  A  New  York  merchant,  unworthy  of  your  aris- 
tocratic powder  and  ball." 

"  The  confounded  Yankee !  "  muttered  Scout- 
bush. 

"  If  people  swear  in  my  house,  I  fine  them  a 
dozen  of  kid  gloves.  Did  you  not  promise  me 
that  you  would  not  make  love  to  her  yourself?  " 

"  Well  —  but,  it  is  too  cruel  of  you,  before  my 
very  eyes." 

"  I  saw  no  love-making  to-night." 

"  None  ?     Were  you  blind  ?  " 

"Not  in  the  least;  but  you  cannot  well  see  a 
thing  making  which  has  been  made  long  ago." 

"  What !     Is  he  her  husband  ?  " 

"No." 

"Engaged  to  her?  " 


La  Cordifiamma  189 

"No." 

"What  then?" 

"  Don't  you  know  already  that  this  is  a  house  of 
mystery,  full  of  mysterious  people?  I  tell  you 
this  only,  that  if  she  ever  marries  any  one,  she 
will  marry  him;  and  that  if  I  can,  I  will  make 
her." 

"  Then  you  are  my  enemy  after  all." 

"  I !  Do  you  think  that  Sabina  Mellot  can  see 
a  young  viscount  loose  upon  the  universe,  without 
trying  to  make  up  a  match  for  him  ?  No ;  I  have 
such  a  prize  for  you  —  young,  handsome,  better 
educated  than  any  woman  whom  you  will  meet 
to-night.  True,  she  is  a  Manchester  girl ;  but  then 
she  has  eighty  thousand  pounds." 

"  Eighty  thousand  nonsense !  I  'd  sooner  have 
that  divine  creature  without  a  penny,  than " 

"And  would  my  lord  viscount  so  far  debase 
himself  as  to  marry  an  actress?" 

"  Humph !  Faith,  my  grandmother  was  an 
actress ;  and  we  St.  Justs  are  none  the  worse  for 
that  fact,  as  far  as  I  can  see  —  and  certainly  none 
the  uglier — the  women  at  least.  Oh  Sabina — 
Mrs.  Mellot,  I  mean  —  only  help  me  this  once !  " 

"This  once?  Do  you  intend  to  marry  by  my 
assistance  this  time,  and  by  your  own  the  next? 
How  many  viscountesses  are  there  to  be?" 

"Don't  laugh  at  me,  you  cruel  woman;  you 
don't  know ;  you  fancy  that  I  am  not  in  love,"  and 
the  poor  fellow  began  pouring  out  these  common- 
places, which  one  has  heard  too  often  to  take  the 
trouble  of  repeating,  and  yet  which  are  real  enough, 
and  pathetic  too ;  for  in  every  man,  however  frivo- 
lous, or  even  worthless,  love  calls  up  to  the  surface 
the  real  heroism,  the  real  depth  of  character  —  all 


190  Two  Years  Ago 

the  more  deep  because  common  to  poet  and  phil- 
osopher, guardsman  and  country  clod. 

"  I  '11  leave  town  to-morrow.  I  '11  go  to  the 
Land's  End  —  to  Norway,  to  Africa " 

"  And  forget  her  in  the  bliss  of  lion-hunting." 

"  Don't,  I  tell  you ;  here  I  will  not  stay  to  be 
driven  mad.  To  think  that  she  is  here,  and  that 
hateful  Yankee  at  her  elbow.  I  '11  go " 

"  To  Lady  M 's  ball  ?  " 

"  No,  confound  it ;  to  meet  that  fellow  there  !  I 
should  quarrel  with  him,  as  sure  as  there  is  hot 
Irish  blood  in  my  veins.  The  self-satisfied  puppy  ! 
to  be  flirting  and  strutting  there,  while  such  a 
creature  as  that  is  lying  thinking  of  him." 

"Would  you  have  him  shut  himself  up  in  his 
hotel,  and  write  poetry;  or  walk  the  streets  all 
night,  sighing  at  the  moon?" 

"  No ;  but  the  cool  way  in  which  he  went  off 
himself,  and  sent  her  to  bed.  Confound  him! 
commanding  her.  It  made  my  blood  boil." 

"  Claude,  get  Lord  Scoutbush  some  iced  soda- 
water." 

"  If  you  laugh  at  me,  I  '11  never  speak  to  you 
again." 

"Or  buy  any  of  Claude's  pictures?" 

"Why  do  you  torment  me  so?  I  '11  go,  I  say  — 
leave  town  to-morrow  —  only  I  can't  with  this 
horrid  depot  work !  What  shall  I  do  ?  It 's  too 
cruel  of  you,  while  Campbell  is  away  in  Ireland, 
too ;  and  I  have  not  a  soul  but  you  to  ask  advice 
of,  for  Valentia  is  as  great  a  goose  as  I  am ;  "  and 
the  poor  little  fellow  buried  his  hands  in  his  curls, 
and  stared  fiercely  into  the  fire,  as  if  to  draw  from 
thence  omens  of  his  love,  by  the  spodomantic 
augury  of  the  ancient  Greeks ;  while  Sabina  tripped 


La  Cordifiamma  191 

up  and  down  the  room,  putting  things  to  rights  for 
the  night,  and  enjoying  his  torments  as  a  cat  does 
those  of  the  mouse  between  her  paws ;  and  yet  not 
out  of  spite,  but  from  pure  and  simple  fun. 

Sabina  is  one  of  those  charming  bodies  who 
knows  everybody's  business,  and  manages  it  She 
lives  in  a  world  of  intrigue,  but  without  a  thought 
of  intriguing  for  her  own  benefit.  She  has  always 
a  match  to  make,  a  disconsolate  lover  to  comfort, 
a  young  artist  to  bring  forward,  a  refugee  to  con- 
ceal, a  spendthrift  to  get  out  of  a  scrape ;  and,  like 
David  in  the  mountains,  "  every  one  that  is  discon- 
tented, and  every  one  that  is  in  debt,  gather  them- 
selves to  her."  The  strangest  people,  on  the 
strangest  errands,  run  over  each  other  in  that  cosy 
little  nest  of  hers.  Fine  ladies  with  over-full  hearts, 
and  seedy  gentlemen  with  over-empty  pockets,  jostle 
each  other  at  her  door ;  and  she  has  a  smile,  and  a 
repartee,  and  good,  cunning,  practical  wisdom  for 
each  and  every  one  of  them,  and  then  dismisses 
them  to  bill  and  coo  with  Claude,  and  laugh  over 
everybody  and  everything.  The  only  price  which 
she  demands  for  her  services  is,  to  be  allowed  to 
laugh;  and  if  that  be  permitted,  she  will  be  as 
busy,  and  earnest,  and  tender,  as  Saint  Elizabeth 
herself.  "  I  have  no  children  of  my  own,"  she  says, 
"so  I  just  make  everybody  my  children,  Claude 
included ;  and  play  with  them,  and  laugh  at  them, 
and  pet  them,  and  help  them  out  of  their  scrapes, 
just  as  I  should  if  they  were  in  my  own  nursery." 
And  so  it  befalls  that  she  is  every  one's  confidante ; 
and  though  every  one  seems  on  the  point  of  taking 
liberties  with  her,  yet  no  one  does ;  partly  because 
they  are  in  her  power,  and  partly  because,  like  an 
Eastern  sultana,  she  carries  a  poniard,  and  can 


192  Two  Years  Ago 

use  it,  though  only  in  self-defence.  So,  if  great 
people,  or  small  people  either  (who  can  give  them- 
selves airs  as  well  as  their  betters),  take  her  plain 
speaking  unkindly,  she  just  speaks  a  little  more 
plainly,  once  for  all,  and  goes  off  smiling  to  some 
one  else ;  as  a  humming  bird,  if  a  flower  has  no 
honey  in  it,  whirs  away,  with  a  saucy  flirt  of  its 
pretty  little  tail,  to  the  next  branch  on  the  bush. 

"  I  must  know  more  of  this  American,"  said 
Scoutbush,  at  last. 

"Well,  he  would  be  very  improving  company 
for  you ;  and  I  know  you  like  improving  company." 

"  I  mean  —  what  has  he  to  do  with  her?  " 

"That  is  just  what  I  will  not  tell  you.  One 
thing  I  will  tell  you,  though,  for  it  may  help  to 
quench  any  vain  hopes  on  your  part ;  and  that  is, 
the  reason  which  she  gives  for  not  marrying  him." 

"Well?" 

"  Because  he  is  an  idler." 

"  What  would  she  say  of  me,  then  ? "  groaned 
Scoutbush. 

"  Very  true ;  for,  you  must  understand,  this  Mr. 
Stangrave  is  not  what  you  or  I  should  call  an  idle 
man.  He  has  travelled  over  half  the  world,  and 
made  the  best  use  of  his  eyes.  He  has  filled  his 
house  in  New  York,  they  say,  with  gems  of  art 
gathered  from  every  country  in  Europe.  He  is  a 
finished  scholar;  talks  half  a  dozen  different  lan- 
guages, sings,  draws,  writes  poetry,  reads  hard  every 
day  at  every  subject,  from  gardening  to  German 
metaphysics  —  altogether,  one  of  the  most  highly 
cultivated  men  I  know,  and  quite  an  Admirable 
Crichton  in  his  way." 

"  Then  why  does  she  call  him  an  idler?" 

"  Because,  she  says,  he  has  no  great  purpose  in 


La  Cordifiamma  193 

life.  She  will  marry  no  one  who  will  not  devote 
himself,  and  all  he  has,  to  some  great,  chivalrous, 
heroic  enterprise ;  whose  one  object  is  to  be  of  use, 
even  if  he  has  to  sacrifice  his  life  to  it.  She  says 
that  there  must  be  such  men  still  left  in  the  world ; 
and  that  if  she  finds  one,  him  she  will  marry,  and 
no  one  else." 

"  Why,  there  are  none  such  to  be  found  nowa- 
days, I  thought?" 

"  You  heard  what  she  herself  said  on  that  very 
point." 

There  was  a  silence  for  a  minute  or  two.  Scout- 
bush  had  heard,  and  was  pondering  it  in  his  heart. 
At  last: 

"  I  am  not  cut  out  for  a  hero ;  so  I  suppose  I 
must  give  her  up.  But  I  wish  sometimes  I  could 
be  of  use,  Mrs.  Mellot;  but  what  can  a  fellow  do?  " 

"I  thought  there  was  an  Irish  tenantry  to  be 
looked  after,  my  lord,  and  a  Cornish  tenantry  too." 

"  That 's  what  Campbell  is  always  saying ;  but 
what  more  can  I  do  than  I  do?  As  for  those 
poor  Paddies,  I  never  ask  them  for  rent;  if  I  did, 
I  should  not  get  it;  so  there  is  no  generosity  in 
that.  And  as  for  the  Aberalva  people,  they  have 
got  on  very  well  without  me  for  twenty  years ;  and 
I  don't  know  them,  nor  what  they  want ;  nor  even 
if  they  do  want  anything,  except  fish  enough,  and 
I  can't  put  more  fish  into  the  sea,  Mrs.  Mellot?" 

"  Try  and  be  a  good  soldier,  then,"  said  she, 
laughing.  "  Why  should  not  Lord  Scoutbush  emu- 
late his  illustrious  countryman,  conquer  at  a  sec- 
ond Waterloo,  and  die  a  duke?" 

"  I  'm  not  cut  out  for  a  general,  I  am  afraid ;  but 
if — I  don't  say  if  I  could  marry  that  woman — I 
suppose  it  would  be  a  foolish  thing  —  though  I 


194  Two  Years  Ago 

shall  break  my  heart,  I  believe,  if  I  do  not.  Oh, 
Mrs.  Mellot,  you  cannot  tell  what  a  fool  I  have 
made  myself  about  her ;  and  I  cannot  help  it !  It 's 
not  her  beauty  merely ;  but  there  is  something  so 
noble  in  her  face,  like  one  of  those  Greek  god- 
desses Claude  talks  of ;  and  when  she  is  acting,  if 
she  has  to  say  anything  grand  or  generous  —  or  — 
you  know  the  sort  of  thing,  —  she  brings  it  out 
with  such  a  voice,  and  such  a  look,  from  the  very 
bottom  of  her  heart,  —  it  makes  me  shudder  ;  just 
as  she  did  when  she  told  that  Yankee,  that  every 
one  could  be  a  hero,  or  a  martyr,  if  he  chose. 
Mrs.  Mellot,  I  am  sure  she  is  one,  or  she  could  not 
look  and  speak  as  she  does." 

"  She  is  one  !  "  said  Sabina ;  "  a  heroine,  and  a 
martyr  too." 

"If  I  could, — that  was  what  I  was  going  to 
say,  —  if  I  could  but  win  that  woman's  respect  — as 
I  live,  I  ask  no  more ;  only  to  be  sure  she  did  n't 
despise  me.  I  'd  do  —  I  don't  know  what  I 
would  n't  do.  I  'd  —  I  'd  study  the  art  of  war :  I 
know  there  are  books  about  it.  I  'd  get  out  to  the 
East,  away  from  this  depot  work ;  and  if  there  is 
no  fighting  there,  as  every  one  says  there  will  not 
be,  I  'd  go  into  a  marching  regiment,  and  see  ser- 
vice. I  'd,  —  hang  it,  if  they  'd  have  me,  —  I  'd 
even  go  to  the  senior  department  at  Sandhurst, 
and  read  mathematics !  " 

Sabina  kept  her  countenance  (though  with  dif- 
ficulty) at  this  magnificent  bathos;  for  she  saw 
that  the  little  man  was  really  in  earnest,  and  that 
the  looks  and  words  of  the  strange  actress  had 
awakened  in  him  something  far  deeper  and  nobler 
than  the  mere  sensual  passion  of  a  boy. 

"  Ah,  if  I  had  but  gone  out  to  Varna  with  the 


La  Cordifiamma  195 

rest !  I  thought  myself  a  lucky  fellow  to  be  left 
here." 

"  Do  you  know  that  it  is  getting  very  late  ?  " 

So  Frederick  Lord  Scoutbush  went  home  to 
his  rooms;  and  there  sat  for  three  hours  and 
more  with  his  feet  on  the  fender,  rejecting  the  en- 
treaties of  Mr.  Bowie,  his  servant,  either  to  have 
something,  or  to  go  to  bed ;  yea,  he  forgot  even 
to  smoke,  by  which  Mr.  Bowie  "jaloused"  that  he 
was  hit  very  hard  indeed :  but  made  no  remark, 
being  a  Scotchman,  and  of  a  cautious  temperament. 

However,  from  that  night  Scoutbush  was  a 
changed  man,  and  tried  to  be  so.  He  read  of 
nothing  but  sieges  and  stockades,  brigade  evolu- 
tions, and  conical  bullets ;  he  drilled  his  men  till 
he  was  an  abomination  in  their  eyes,  and  a  weari- 
ness to  their  flesh ;  only  every  evening  he  went  to 
the  theatre,  watched  La  Cordifiamma  with  a  heavy 
heart,  and  then  went  home  to  bed;  for  the  little 
man  had  good  sense  enough  to  ask  Sabina  for  no 
more  interviews  with  her.  So  in  all  things  he 
acquitted  himself  as  a  model  officer,  and  excited 
the  admiration  and  respect  of  Sergeant-Major 
MacArthur,  who  began  fishing  at  Bowie  to  dis- 
cover the  cause  of  this  strange  metamorphosis  in 
the  rackety  little  Irishman. 

"  Your  master  seems  to  be  qualifying  himself  for 
the  adjutant's  post,  Mr.  Bowie.  I  'm  jalousing  he 's 
fired  with  martial  ardor  since  the  war  broke  out." 

To  which  Bowie,  being  a  brother  Scot,  answered 
Scottice,  by  a  crafty  paralogism. 

"I've  always  held  it  as  my  opeenion,  that  his 
lordship  is  a  youth  of  very  good  parts,  if  he  was 
only  compelled  to  employ  them." 


CHAPTER  VIH 

TAKING  ROOT 

WHOSOEVER  enjoys  the  sight  of  an  honest 
man  doing  his  work  well,  would  have 
enjoyed  the  sight  of  Tom  Thurnall  for  the  next 
two  months.  Indoors  all  the  morning,  and  out  of 
doors  all  the  afternoon,  was  that  shrewd  and  good- 
natured  visage,  calling  up  an  answering  smile  on 
every  face,  and  leaving  every  heart  a  little  lighter 
than  he  found  it  Puzzling  enough  it  was,  alike 
to  Heale  and  to  Headley,  how  Tom  contrived,  as 
if  by  magic,  to  gain  every  one's  good  word,  their 
own  included.  For  Frank,  in  spite  of  Tom's  ques- 
tionable opinions,  had  already  made  all  but  a 
confidant  of  the  doctor;  and  Heale,  in  spite  of 
envy  and  suspicion,  could  not  deny  that  the  young 
man  was  a  very  valuable  young  man,  if  he  was  n't 
given  so  much  to  those  new-fangled  notions  of 
the  profession. 

By  which  term  Heale  indicated  the,  to  him, 
astounding  fact,  that  Tom  charged  the  patients 
as  little,  instead  of  as  much  as  possible,  and 
applying  to  medicine  the  principles  of  an  en- 
lightened political  economy,  tried  to  increase  the 
demand  by  cheapening  the  supply. 

"Which  is  revolutionary  doctrine,  sir,"  said 
Heale  to  Lieutenant  Jones,  over  the  brandy-and- 
water,  "  and  just  like  what  the  Cobden  and  Bright 


Taking  Root  197 

lot  used  to  talk,  and  have  been  the  ruin  of  British 
agriculture,  though  don't  say  I  said  so,  because 
of  my  Lord  Minchampstead.  But  conceive  my 
feelings,  sir,  as  the  father  of  a  family  who  have 
my  bread  to  earn,  this  very  morning.  —  In  comes 
old  Dame  Penaluna  (which  is  good  pay  I  know, 
and  has  two  hundred  and  more  out  on  a  merchant 
brig)  for  something;  and  what  was  my  feelings, 
sir,  to  hear  this  young  party  deliver  himself — 
'  Well,  ma'am,'  says  he,  as  I  am  a  living  man, 
'  I  can  cure  you,  if  you  like,  with  a  dozen  bottles 
of  lotion,  at  eighteenpence  a-piece ;  but  if  you  '11 
take  my  advice,  you  '11  buy  twopennyworth  of 
alum  down  street,  do  what  I  tell  you  with  it,  and 
cure  yourself.'  It's  robbery,  sir,  I  say,  all  these 
out-of-the-way  cheap  dodges,  which  arn't  in  the 
pharmacopoeia,  half  of  them;  it's  unprofessional, 
sir  —  quackery." 

"  Tell  you  what,  doctor,  robbery  or  none,  I  '11 
go  to  him  to-morrow,  d' ye  see,  if  I  live  as  long, 
for  this  old  ailment  of  mine.  I  never  told  you  of 
it,  old  pill  and  potion,  for  fear  of  a  swinging  bill : 
but  just  grinned  and  bore  it,  d'  ye  see." 

"There  it  is  again,"  cries  Heale,  in  despair. 
"  He  '11  ruin  me." 

"  No,  he  won't,  and  you  know  it." 

"What  d'ye  think  he  served  me  last  week?  A 
young  chap  comes  in,  consumptive,  he  said,  and  I 
dare  say  he's  right  —  he  is  uncommonly  'cute 
about  what  he  calls  diagnosis.  Says  he,  '  You 
ought  to  try  Carrageen  moss.  It 's  an  old  drug, 
but  it 's  a  good  one.'  There  was  a  draw  full  of  it 
to  his  hand ;  had  been  lying  there  any  time  this 
ten  years.  I  go  to  open  it:  but  what  was  my 
feelings  when  he  goes  on,  as  cool  as  a  cucumber, 


198  Two  Years  Ago 

'And  there's  bushels  of  it  here,'  says  he,  'on 
every  rock ;  so  if  you  '11  come  down  with  me  at 
low  tide  this  afternoon,  I  '11  show  you  the  trade, 
and  tell  you  how  to  boil  it'  I  thought  I  should 
have  knocked  him  down." 

"  But  you  did  n't,"  said  Jones,  laughing  in  every 
muscle  of  his  body.  "Tell  you  what,  doctor, 
you  Ve  got  a  treasure ;  he 's  just  getting  back 
your  custom,  d'  ye  see,  and  when  he 's  done  that, 
he  '11  lay  on  the  bills  sharp  enough.  Why,  I  hear 
he 's  up  at  Mrs.  Vavasour's  every  day." 

"  And  not  ten  shillings'  worth  of  medicine  sent 
up  to  the  house  any  week." 

"  He  charges  for  his  visits,  I  suppose." 

"  Not  he !  If  you  '11  believe  me,  when  I  asked 
him  if  he  wasn't  going  to,  he  says,  says  he, 
that  Mrs.  Vavasour's  company  was  quite  pay- 
ment enough  for  him." 

"  Shows  his  good  taste.  Why,  what  now,  Mary  ?  " 
as  the  maid  opens  the  door. 

"  Mr.  Thuraall  wants  Mr.  Heale." 

"Always  wanting  me,"  groans  Heale,  hugging 
his  glass,  "  driving  me  about  like  any  negro  slave. 
Tell  him  to  come  in." 

"  Here,  doctor,"  says  the  lieutenant,  "  I  want 
you  to  prescribe  for  me,  if  you  '11  do  it  gratis,  d'  ye 
see.  Take  some  brandy-and-water." 

"Good  advice  costs  nothing,"  says  Tom,  filling; 
"  Mr.  Heale,  read  that  letter." 

And  the  lieutenant  details  his  ailments,  and  their 
supposed  cause,  till  Heale  has  the  pleasure  of 
hearing  Tom  answer : 

"Fiddlesticks!  That's  not  what's  the  matter 
with  you.  I  '11  cure  you  for  half  a  crown,  and  toss 
you  up  double  or  quits." 


Taking  Root  199 

"  Oh !  "  groans  Heale,  as  he  spells  away  over 
the  letter: 

"  Lord  Minchampstead,  having  been  informed  by  Mr. 
Armsworth  that  Mr.  Thurnall  is  now  in  the  neighborhood 
of  his  estates  of  Pentremochyn,  would  feel  obliged  to 
him  at  his  earliest  convenience  to  examine  into  the 
sanitary  state  of  the  cottages  thereon,  which  are  said  to 
be  much  haunted  by  typhus  and  other  epidemics,  and 
to  send  him  a  detailed  report,  indicating  what  he  thinks 
necessary  for  making  them  thoroughly  healthy.  Mr. 
Thurnall  will  be  so  good  as  to  make  his  own  charge." 

"  Well,  Mr.  Thurnall,  you  ought  to  turn  a  good 
penny  by  this,"  said  Heale,  half  envious  of  Tom's 
connection,  half  contemptuous  at  his  supposed 
indifference  to  gain. 

"  1 11  charge  what  it 's  worth,"  said  Tom.  "  Mean- 
while, I  hope  you  're  going  to  see  Miss  Beer  to- 
night." 

"  Could  n't  you  just  go  yourself,  my  dear  sir? 
It  is  so  late." 

"No;  I  never  go  near  young  women.  I  told 
you  so  at  first,  and  I  stick  to  my  rule.  You'd 
better  go,  sir,  on  my  word,  or  if  she 's  dead  before 
morning,  don't  say  it 's  my  fault." 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  a  poor  old  man  so  tyran- 
nized over?"  said  Heale,  as  Tom  coolly  went 
into  the  passage,  brought  in  the  old  man's  great- 
coat and  hat,  arrayed  him  and  marched  him  out, 
civilly  but  firmly. 

"  Now,  lieutenant,  I  Ve  half  an  hour  to  spare ; 
let 's  have  a  jolly  chat  about  the  West  Indies." 

And  Tom  began  with  anecdote  and  joke,  and 
the  old  seaman  laughed  till  he  cried,  and  went  to 
bed  vowing  that  there  never  was  such  a  pleasant 


200  Two  Years  Ago 

fellow  on  earth,  and  he  ought  to  be  physician  to 
Queen  Victoria. 

Up  at  five  the  next  morning,  the  indefatigable 
Tom  had  all  his  work  done  by  ten;  and  was 
preparing  to  start  for  Pentremochyn  ere  Heale  was 
out  of  bed,  when  a  customer  came  in  who  kept 
him  half  an  hour. 

He  was  a  tall  broad-shouldered  young  man, 
with  a  red  face,  protruding  bull's  eyes,  and  a 
moustachio.  He  was  dressed  in  a  complete  suit 
of  pink  and  white  plaid,  cut  jauntily  enough.  A 
bright  blue  cap,  a  thick  gold  watch-chain,  three  or 
four  large  rings,  a  dog-whistle  from  his  buttonhole, 
a  fancy  cane  in  his  hand,  and  a  little  Oxford 
meerschaum  in  his  mouth,  completed  his  equip- 
ment. He  lounged  in,  with  an  air  o  careless  su- 
periority, while  Tom,  who  was  behind  the  counter, 
cutting  up  his  day's  provisions  of  honeydew, 
eyed  him  curiously. 

"Who  are  you,  now?  A  gentleman?  Not 
quite,  I  guess.  Some  squireen  of  the  parts  ad- 
jacent, and  look  in  somewhat  of  a  crapulocomatose 
state  moreover.  I  wonder  if  you  are  the  great 
Trebooze,  of  Trebooze." 

"  I  say,"  yawned  the  young  gentleman,  "  where 's 
old  Heale  ?  "  and  an  oath  followed  the  speech,  as 
it  did  every  other  one  herein  recorded. 

"  The  playing  half  of  old  Heale  is  in  bed,  and 
I'm  his  working  half.  Can  I  do  anything  for 
you?" 

"Cool  fish,"  thought  the  customer.  "I  say  — 
what  have  you  got  there  ?  " 

"  Australian  honeydew.  Did  you  ever  smoke 
it?" 

"I've   heard   of  it;   let's  see:"  and   Mr.  Tre- 


Taking  Root  201 

booze  —  for  it  was  he  —  put  his  hand  across  the 
counter  unceremoniously,  and  clawed  up  some. 

"  Did  n't  know  you  sold  tobacco  here.  Prime 
stuff.  Too  strong  for  me,  though,  this  morning, 
somehow." 

"Ah?  A  little  too  much  claret  last  night?  I 
thought  so.  We  '11  set  that  right  in  five  minutes." 

"Eh?  How  did  you  guess  that?  "asked  Tre- 
booze,  with  a  larger  oath  than  usual. 

"  Oh,  we  doctors  are  men  of  the  world,"  said 
Tom,  in  a  cheerful  and  insinuating  tone,  as  he 
mixed  his  man  a  draught. 

"You  doctors?  You're  a  cock  of  a  different 
hackle  from  old  Heale,  then." 

"  I  trust  so,"  said  Tom. 

"  By  George,  I  feel  better  already.  I  say,  you  're 
A  trump ;  I  suppose  you  're  Heale's  new  partner, 
the  man  who  was  washed  ashore  ?  " 

Tom  nodded  assent. 

"  I  say — how  do  you  sell  that  honeydew?  " 

"  I  don't  sell  it ;  I  '11  give  you  as  much  as  you 
like,  only  you  sha'n't  smoke  it  till  after  dinner." 

"Sha'n't?"  said  Trebooze,  testy  and  proud. 

"  Not  with  my  leave,  or  you  '11  be  complaining 
two  hours  hence  that  I'm  a  humbug,  and  have 
done  you  no  good.  Get  on  your  horse,  and  have 
four  hours'  gallop  on  the  downs,  and  you  '11  feel 
like  a  buffalo  bull  by  two  o'clock." 

Trebooze  looked  at  him  with  a  stupid  curiosity 
and  a  little  awe.  He  saw  that  Tom's  cool  self- 
possession  was  not  meant  for  impudence;  and 
something  in  his  tone  and  manner  told  him  that  the 
boast  of  being  "  a  man  of  the  world  "  was  not  untrue. 
And  of  all  kinds  of  men,  a  man  of  the  world  was 
the  man  of  whom  Trebooze  stood  most  in  awe. 


202  Tv/o  Years  Ago 

A  small  squireen,  cursed  with  six  or  seven  hun- 
dreds a  year  of  his  own,  never  sent  to  school, 
college,  or  into  the  army,  he  had  grown  up  in  a 
narrow  circle  of  squireens  like  himself,  without 
an  object  save  that  of  gratifying  his  animal  pas- 
sions ;  and  had  about  six  years  before,  being  then 
just  of  age,  settled  in  life  by  marrying  his  housemaid 
—  the  only  wise  thing,  perhaps,  he  ever  did. 
For  she,  a  clever  and  determined  woman,  kept 
him,  though  not  from  drunkenness  and  debt,  at 
least  from  delirium  tremens  and  ruin,  and  was,  in 
her  rough,  vulgar  way,  his  guardian  angel  —  such 
a  one,  at  least,  as  he  was  worthy  of.  More  than 
once  has  one  seen  the  same  seeming  folly  turn  out 
in  practice  as  wise  a  step  as  could  well  have  been 
taken ;  and  the  coarse  nature  of  the  man,  which 
would  have  crushed  and  ill-used  a  delicate  and  high- 
minded  wife,  subdued  to  something  like  decency 
by  a  help  literally  meet  for  it. 

There  was  a  pause.  Trebooze  fancied,  and 
wisely,  that  the  doctor  was  a  cleverer  man  than 
he,  and  of  course  would  want  to  show  it.  So,  after 
the  fashion  of  a  country  squireen,  he  felt  a  long- 
ing to  "  set  him  down."  "  He  's  been  a  traveller, 
they  say,"  thought  he  in  that  pugnacious,  sceptical 
spirit  which  is  bred,  not,  as  twaddlers  fancy,  by 
too  extended  knowledge,  but  by  the  sense  of  igno- 
rance and  a  narrow  sphere  of  thought,  which 
makes  a  man  angry  and  envious  of  any  one  who 
has  seen  more  than  he. 

"Buffalo  bulls?"  said  he,  half  contemptuously; 
"what  do  you  know  about  buffalo  bulls?  " 

"  I  was  one  once  myself,"  said  Tom,  "  where  I 
lived  before." 

Trebooze  swore.  "  Don't  you  put  your  trav- 
eller's lies  on  me,  sir." 


Taking  Root  203 

"  Well,  perhaps  I  dreamt  it,"  said  Tom,  placidly ; 
"  I  remember  I  dreamt  at  the  same  time  that  you 
were  a  grizzly  bear,  fourteen  feet  long,  and  wanted 
to  eat  me  up  :  but  you  found  me  too  tough  about 
the  hump  ribs." 

Trebooze  stared  at  his  audacity. 

"  You  're  a  rum  hand." 

To  which  Tom  made  answer  in  the  same  elegant 
strain;  and  then  began  a  regular  word-battle  of 
slang,  in  which  Tom  showed  himself  so  really  witty 
a  proficient,  that  Mr.  Trebooze  laughed  himself 
into  good  humor,  and  ended  by : 

"  I  say,  you  're  a  good  fellow,  and  I  think  you 
and  I  shall  suit." 

Tom  had  his  doubts,  but  did  not  express 
them. 

"  Come  up  this  afternoon  and  see  my  child ; 
Mrs.  Trebooze  thinks  it's  got  swelled  glands,  or 
some  such  woman's  nonsense.  Bother  them,  why 
can't  they  let  the  child  alone,  fussing  and  doctor- 
ing :  and  she  will  have  you.  Heard  of  you  from 
Mrs.  Vavasour,  I  believe.  Our  doctor  and  I  have 
quarrelled,  and  she  said,  if  I  could  get  you,  she  'd 
sooner  have  you  than  that  old  rum-puncheon 
Heale.  And  then,  you  'd  better  stop  and  take 
pot-luck,  and  we  '11  make  a  night  of  it." 

"  I  have  to  go  round  Lord  Minchampstead's 
estates,  and  will  take  you  on  my  way :  but  I  'm  afraid 
I  shall  be  too  dirty  to  have  the  pleasure  of  dining 
with  Mrs.  Trebooze  coming  back." 

"  Mrs.  Trebooze  !  She  must  take  what  I  like ; 
and  what 's  good  enough  for  me  is  good  enough 
for  her,  I  hope.  Come  as  you  are  —  Liberty-hall 
at  Trebooze ;  "  and  out  he  swaggered. 

"  Does  he  bully  her?"  thought  Tom,  "or  is  he 


204  Two  Years  Ago 

hen-pecked,  and  wants  to  hide  it?  I'll  see  to- 
night, and  play  my  cards  accordingly." 

All  which  Miss  Heale  had  heard.  She  had  been 
peeping  and  listening  at  the  glass  door,  and  her 
mother  also ;  for  no  sooner  had  Trebooze  entered 
the  shop,  than  she  had  run  off  to  tell  her  mother 
the  surprising  fact,  Trebooze's  custom  having  been, 
for  some  years  past,  courted  in  vain  by  Heale.  So 
Miss  Heale  peeped  and  peeped  at  a  man  whom 
she  regarded  with  delighted  curiosity,  because  he 
bore  the  reputation  of  being  "  such  a  naughty, 
wicked  man !  "  and  "  so  very  handsome  too,  and 
so  distinguished  as  he  looks  !  "  said  the  poor  little 
fool,  to  whose  novel-fed  imagination  Mr.  Trebooze 
was  an  ideal  Lothario. 

But  the  surprise  of  the  two  dames  grew  rapidly 
as  they  heard  Tom's  audacity  towards  the  country 
aristocrat. 

"  Impudent  wretch !  "  moaned  Mrs.  Heale  to 
herself.  "  He  'd  drive  away  an  angel  if  he  came 
into  the  shop." 

"  Oh,  ma !  hear  how  they  are  going  on  now." 

"  I  can't  bear  it,  my  dear.  This  man  will  be  the 
ruin  of  us.  His  manners  are  those  of  the  pot- 
house, when  the  cloven  foot  is  shown,  which  it 's 
his  nature  as  a  child  of  wrath,  and  we  can't  expect 
otherwise." 

"  Oh,  ma !  do  you  hear  that  Mr.  Trebooze  has 
asked  him  to  dinner?  " 

"  Nonsense !  " 

But  it  was  true. 

"  Well !  if  there  ain't  the  signs  of  the  end  of  the 
world,  which  is?  All  the  years  your  poor  father 
has  been  here,  and  never  so  much  as  send  him  a 
hare,  and  now  this  young  penniless  interloper; 


Taking  Root  205 

and  he  to  dine  at  Trebooze  off  purple  and  fine 
linen." 

"  There  is  not  much  of  that  there,  ma ;  I  'm  sure 
they  are  poor  enough,  for  all  his  pride ;  and  as  for 
her " 

"Yes,  my  dear;  and  as  for  her,  though  we 
have  n't  married  squires,  my  dear,  yet  we  have  n't 
been  squires'  housemaids,  and  have  adorned  our 
own  station,  which  was  good  enough  for  us,  and 
has  no  need  to  rise  out  of  it,  nor  ride  on  Pharaoh's 
chariot-wheels  after  filthy  lucre " 

Miss  Heale  hated  poor  Mrs.  Trebooze  with  a 
bitter  hatred,  because  she  dreamed  insanely  that, 
but  for  her,  she  might  have  secured  Mr.  Trebooze 
for  herself.  And  though  her  ambition  was  now 
transferred  to  the  unconscious  Tom,  that  need  not 
make  any  difference  in  the  said  amiable  feeling. 

But  that  Tom  was  a  most  wonderful  person,  she 
had  no  doubt.  He  had  conquered  her  heart — 
so  she  informed  herself  passionately  again  and 
again ;  as  was  very  necessary,  seeing  that  the  pas- 
sion, having  no  real  life  of  its  own,  required  a 
good  deal  of  blowing  to  keep  it  alight.  Yes,  he 
had  conquered  her  heart,  and  he  was  conquering 
all  hearts  likewise.  There  must  be  some  mystery 
about  him  —  there  should  be.  And  she  settled 
in  her  novel-bewildered  brain,  that  Tom  must  be  a 
nobleman  in  disguise  —  probably  a  foreign  prince, 
exiled  for  political  offences.  Bah !  perhaps  too 
many  lines  have  been  spent  on  the  poor  little  fool ; 
but  as  such  fools  exist,  and  people  must  be  as 
they  are,  there  is  no  harm  in  drawing  her ;  and  in 
asking,  too  —  Who  will  help  those  young  girls  of 
the  middle  class  who,  like  Miss  Heale,  are  often 
really  less  educated  than  the  children  of  their 


206  Two  Years  Ago 

parents'  workmen;  sedentary,  luxurious,  full  of 
petty  vanity,  gossip,  and  intrigue,  without  work, 
without  purpose,  except  that  of  getting  married  to 
any  one  who  will  ask  them  —  bewildering  brain  and 
heart  with  novels,  which,  after  all,  one  hardly 
grudges  them ;  for  what  other  means  have  they  of 
learning  that  there  is  any  fairer,  nobler  life  possible, 
at  least  on  earth,  than  that  of  the  sordid  money- 
getting,  often  the  sordid  puffery  and  adulation, 
which  is  the  atmosphere  of  their  home  ?  Excep- 
tions there  are,  in  thousands,  doubtless;  and  the 
families  of  the  great  city  tradesmen  stand,  of 
course,  on  far  higher  ground,  and  are  often  far 
better  educated,  and  more  high-minded,  than  the 
fine  ladies,  their  parents'  customers.  But,  till 
some  better  plan  of  education  than  the  boarding- 
school  is  devised  for  them ;  till  our  towns  shall  see 
something  like  in  kind  to,  though  sounder  and 
soberer  in  quality  than,  the  high  schools  of 
America;  till  in  country  villages  the  ladies  who 
interest  themselves  about  the  poor  will  recollect 
that  the  farmers'  and  tradesmen's  daughters  are 
just  as  much  in  want  of  their  influence  as  the 
charity  children,  and  will  yield  a  far  richer  return 
for  their  labor,  though  the  one  need  not  inter- 
fere with  the  other ;  so  long  will  England  be  full  of 
Miss  Heales ;  fated,  when  they  marry,  to  bring  up 
sons  and  daughters  as  sordid  and  unwholesome  as 
their  mothers. 

Tom  worked  all  that  day  in  and  out  of  the 
Pentremochyn  cottages,  noting  down  nuisances 
and  dilapidations :  but  his  head  was  full  of  other 
thoughts,  for  he  had  received,  the  evening  before, 
news  which  was  to  him  very  important,  for  more 
reasons  than  one.  The  longer  he  stayed  at  Aber- 


Taking  Root  207 

alva,  the  longer  he  felt  inclined  to  stay.  The 
strange  attraction  of  Grace  had,  as  we  have  seen, 
something  to  do  with  his  purpose  :  but  he  saw,  too, 
a  good  opening  for  one  of  those  country  practices 
in  which  he  seemed  more  and  more  likely  to  end. 
At  his  native  Whitbury,  he  knew,  there  was  no 
room  for  a  fresh  medical  man;  and  gradually 
he  was  making  up  his  mind  to  settle  at  Aber- 
alva;  to  buy  out  Heale,  either  with  his  own 
money  (if  he  recovered  it),  or  with  money  bor- 
rowed from  Mark;  to  bring  his  father  down  to 
live  with  him,  and  in  that  pleasant  wild  western 
place,  fold  his  wings  after  all  his  wanderings.  And 
therefore  certain  news  which  he  had  obtained  the 
night  before  was  very  valuable  to  him,  in  that  it 
put  a  fresh  person  into  his  power,  and  might,  if 
cunningly  used,  give  him  a  hold  upon  the  ruling 
family  of  the  place,  and  on  Lord  Scoutbush  him- 
self. He  had  found  out  that  Lucia  and  Elsley 
were  unhappy  together;  and  found  out,  too,  a 
little  more  than  was  there  to  find.  He  could  not, 
of  course,  be  a  month  among  the  gossips  of 
Aberalva,  without  hearing  hints  that  the  great 
folks  at  the  court  did  not  always  keep  their 
tempers;  for  of  family  jars,  as  of  everything  else 
on  earth,  the  great  and  just  law  stands  true : "  What 
you  do  in  the  closet,  shall  be  proclaimed  on  the 
housetop." 

But  the  gossips  of  Aberalva,  as  women  are  too 
often  wont  to  do,  had  altogether  taken  the  man's 
side  in  the  quarrel.  The  reason  was,  I  suppose, 
that  Lucia,  conscious  of  having  fallen  somewhat 
in  rank,  "  held  up  her  head  "  to  Mrs.  Trebooze 
and  Mrs.  Heale  (as  they  themselves  expressed  it), 
and  to  various  other  little  notabilities  of  the 


20 8  Two  Years  Ago 

neighborhood,  rather  more  than  she  would  have 
done  had  she  married  a  man  of  her  own  class. 
She  was  afraid  that  they  might  boast  of  being 
intimate  with  her ;  that  they  might  take  to  advis- 
ing and  patronizing  her  as  an  inexperienced  young 
creature ;  afraid,  even,  that  she  might  be  tempted 
in  some  unguarded  moment  to  gossip  with  them, 
confide  her  unhappiness  to  them,  in  the  blind 
longing  to  open  her  heart  to  some  human  being; 
for  there  were  no  resident  gentry  of  her  own  rank 
in  the  neighborhood.  She  was  too  high-minded 
to  complain  much  to  Clara ;  and  her  sister  Valen- 
tia  was  the  very  last  person  to  whom  she  would 
confess  that  her  runaway  match  had  not  been 
altogether  successful.  So  she  lived  alone  and 
friendless,  shrinking  into  herself  more  and  more, 
while  the  vulgar  women  round  mistook  her  honor 
for  pride,  and  revenged  themselves  accordingly. 
She  was  an  uninteresting  fine  lady,  proud  and 
cross,  and  Elsley  was  a  martyr.  "  So  handsome 
and  agreeable  as  he  was  "  (and,  to  do  him  justice, 
he  was  the  former,  and  he  could  be  the  latter 
when  he  chose),  "  to  be  tied  to  that  unsociable, 
stuck-up  woman ;  "  and  so  forth. 

All  which  Tom  had  heard,  and  formed  his  own 
opinion  thereof:  which  was  : 

"  All  very  fine ;  but  I  flatter  myself  I  know  a 
little  what  women  are  made  of;  and  this  I  know, 
that  where  man  and  wife  quarrel,  even  if  she  ends 
the  battle,  it  is  he  who  has  begun  it.  I  never  saw 
a  case  yet  where  the  man  was  not  the  most  in 
fault ;  and  I  '11  lay  my  life  John  Briggs  has  led  her 
a  pretty  life:  what  else  could  one  expect  of 
him?" 

However,  he  held  his  tongue,  and  kept  his  eyes 


Taking  Root  209 

open  withal  whenever  he  went  up  to  Penalva  Court, 
which  he  had  to  do  very  often ;  for  though  he  had 
cured  the  children  of  their  ailments,  yet  Mrs.  Vava- 
sour was  perpetually,  more  or  less,  unwell,  and  he 
could  not  cure  her.  Her  low  spirits,  headaches, 
general  want  of  tone  and  vitality,  puzzled  him  at 
first,  and  would  have  puzzled  him  longer,  had  he 
not  settled  with  himself  that  their  cause  was  to 
be  sought  in  the  mind,  and  not  in  the  body ;  and 
at  last,  gaining  courage  from  certainty,  he  had 
hinted  as  much  to  Miss  Clara  the  night  before, 
when  she  came  down  (as  she  was  very  fond  of 
doing)  to  have  a  gossip  with  him  in  his  shop, 
under  the  pretence  of  fetching  medicine. 

"  I  don't  think  I  shall  send  Mrs.  Vavasour  any 
more,  Miss  Clara.  There  is  no  use  running  up  a 
long  bill  while  I  do  no  good ;  and,  what  is  more, 
suspect  that  I  can  do  none,  poor  lady."  And  he 
gave  the  girl  a  look  which  seemed  to  say,  "  You 
had  better  tell  me  the  truth ;  for  I  know  everything 
already." 

To  which  Clara  answered  by  trying  to  find  out 
how  much  he  did  know  :  but  Tom  was  a  cun- 
ninger  diplomatist  than  she ;  and  in  ten  minutes, 
after  having  given  solemn  promises  of  secrecy, 
and  having,  by  strong  expressions  of  contempt  for 
Mrs.  Heale  and  the  village  gossips,  made  Clara 
understand  that  he  did  not  at  all  take  their  view 
of  the  case,  he  had  poured  out  to  him  across  the 
counter  all  Clara's  long-pent  indignation  and  con- 
tempt. 

"  I  never  said  a  word  of  this  to  a  living  soul, 
sir ;  I  was  too  proud,  for  my  mistress'  sake,  to  let 
vulgar  people  know  what  we  suffered.  We  don't 
want  any  of  their  pity  indeed ;  but  you,  sir,  who 


210  Two  Years  Ago 

have  the  feelings  of  a  gentleman,  and  know  what 
the  world  is,  like  ourselves " 

"  Take  care,"  whispered  Tom ;  "  that  daughter 
of  Heale's  may  be  listening." 

"  I  'd  pull  her  hair  about  her  ears  if  I  caught 
her !  "  quoth  Clara ;  and  then  ran  on  to  tell  how 
Elsley  "never  kept  no  hours,  nor  no  accounts  either; 
so  that  she  has  to  do  everything,  poor  thing ;  and  no 
thanks  either.  And  never  knows  when  he  '11  dine, 
or  when  he  '11  breakfast,  or  when  he  '11  be  in,  wander- 
ing in  and  out  like  a  madman ;  and  sits  up  all  night, 
writing  his  nonsense.  And  she  '11  go  down  twice 
and  three  times  a  night  in  the  cold,  poor  dear,  to 
see  if  he 's  fallen  asleep ;  and  gets  abused  like  a 
pickpocket  for  her  pains  (which  was  an  exaggera- 
tion) ;  and  lies  in  bed  all  the  morning,  looking  at 
the  flies,  and  calls  after  her  if  his  shoes  want  tying, 
or  his  finger  aches ;  as  helpless  as  the  babe  unborn ; 
and  will  never  do  nothing  useful  himself,  not  even 
to  hang  a  picture  or  move  a  chair,  and  grumbles 
at  her  if  he  sees  her  doing  anything,  because  she 
ain't  listening  to  his  prosodies,  and  snaps,  and 
worrits,  and  won't  speak  to  her  sometimes  for  a 
whole  morning,  the  brute." 

"  But  is  he  not  fond  of  his  children?  " 

"  Fond  ?  Yes,  his  way,  and  small  thanks  to  him, 
the  little  angels  !  To  play  with  'em  when  they  're 
good,  and  tell  them  cock-and-a-bull  fairy-tales  — 
wonder  why  he  likes  to  put  such  stuff  into  their 
heads  —  and  then  send  'em  out  of  the  room  if  they 
make  a  noise,  because  it  splits  his  poor  head,  and 
his  nerves  are  so  delicate.  Wish  he  had  hers,  or 
mine  either,  Doctor  Thurnall;  then  he'd  know 
what  nerves  was,  in  a  frail  woman,  which  he  uses 
us  both  as  his  negro  slaves,  or  would  if  I  did  n't 


Taking  Root  211 

stand  up  to  him  pretty  sharp  now  and  then,  and 
give  him  a  piece  of  my  mind,  which  I  will  do,  like 
the  faithful  servant  in  the  parable,  if  he  kills  me 
for  it,  Doctor  Thurnall !  " 

"  Does  he  drink?  "  asked  Tom,  bluntly. 

"  He !  "  she  answered,  in  a  tone  which  seemed  to 
imply  that  even  one  masculine  vice  would  have 
raised  him  in  her  eyes.  "  He 's  not  man  enough, 
I  think ;  and  lives  on  his  slops,  and  his  coffee,  and 
his  tapioca ;  and  how  's  he  ever  to  have  any  appe- 
tite, always  a  sitting  about,  heaped  up  together 
over  his  books,  with  his  ribs  growing  into  his  back- 
bone? If  he  'd  only  go  and  take  his  walk,  or  get 
a  spade  and  dig  in  the  garden,  or  anything  but 
them  everlasting  papers,  which  I  hates  the  sight 
of;  "  and  so  forth. 

From  all  which  Tom  gathered  a  tolerably  clear 
notion  of  the  poor  poet's  state  of  body  and  mind ; 
as  a  self-indulgent,  unmethodical  person,  whose  ill- 
temper  was  owing  partly  to  perpetual  brooding 
over  his  own  thoughts,  and  partly  to  dyspepsia, 
brought  on  by  his  own  effeminacy  —  in  both  cases, 
not  a  thing  to  be  pitied  or  excused  by  the  hearty 
and  valiant  doctor.  And  Tom's  original  contempt 
for  Vavasour  took  a  darker  form,  perhaps  one  too 
dark  to  be  altogether  just. 

"  I  '11  tackle  him,  Miss  Clara." 

"  I  wish  you  would :  I  'm  sure  he  wants  some  one 
to  look  after  him  just  now.  He 's  half  wild  about 
some  review  that  somebody 's  been  and  done  of  him 
in  the  '  Times, '  and  has  been  flinging  the  paper 
about  the  room,  and  calling  all  mankind  vipers, 
and  adders,  and  hooting  herds  —  it's  as  bad  as 
swearing,  I  say  —  and  running  to  my  mistress,  to 

make  her  read  it,  and  see  how  the  whole  world  's 
Vol.  10-^J 


212  Two  Years  Ago 

against  him,  and  then  forbidding  her  to  defile  her 
eyes  with  a  word  of  it ;  and  so  on,  till  she  's  been 
crying  all  the  morning,  poor  dear !  " 

"  Why  not  laughing  at  him !  " 

"  Poor  thing ;  that 's  where  it  all  is :  she 's  just 
as  anxious  about  his  poetry  as  he  is,  and  would 
write  it  just  as  well  as  he,  I  '11  warrant,  if  she  had  n't 
better  things  to  do ;  and  all  her  fuss  is,  that  people 
should  '  appreciate '  him.  He  's  always  talking 
about  appreciating,  till  I  hate  the  sound  of  the 
word.  How  any  woman  can  go  on  so  after  a  man 
that  behaves  as  he  does !  but  we  're  all  soft  fools, 
I  'm  afraid,  Doctor  Thurnall."  And  Clara  began 
a  languishing  look  or  two  across  the  counter, 
which  made  Tom  answer  to  an  imaginary  Doctor 
Heale,  whom  he  heard  calling  from  within. 

"Yes,  doctor!  coming  this  moment,  doctor! 
Good-bye,  Miss  Clara.  I  must  hear  more  next 
time;  you  may  trust  me,  you  know;  secret  as  the 
grave,  and  always  your  friend,  and  your  lady's  too, 
if  you  will  allow  me  to  do  myself  such  an  honor. 
Coming,  doctor ! " 

And  Tom  bolted  through  the  glass  door, 
till  Miss  Clara  was  safe  on  her  way  up  the 
street. 

"  Very  well,"  said  Tom  to  himself.  "  Knowledge 
is  power:  but  how  to  use  it?  To  get  into  Mrs. 
Vavasour's  confidence,  and  show  an  inclination  to 
take  her  part  against  her  husband?  If  she  be  a 
true  woman,  she  would  order  me  out  of  the  house 
on  the  spot,  as  surely  as  a  fish-wife  would  fall 
tooth  and  nail  on  me  as  a  base  intruder,  if  I  dared 
to  interfere  with  her  sacred  right  of  being  beaten 
by  her  husband  when  she  chooses.  No ;  I  must 
go  straight  to  John  Briggs  himself,  and  bind  him 


Taking  Root  213 

over  to  keep  the  peace ;  and  I  think  I  know  the 
way  to  do  it" 

So  Tom  pondered  over  many  plans  in  his  head 
that  day ;  and  then  went  to  Trebooze,  and  saw  the 
sick  child,  and  sat  down  to  dinner,  where  his  host 
talked  loud  about  the  Treboozes  of  Trebooze,  who 
fought  in  the  Spanish  Armada  —  or  against  it; 
and  showed  an  unbounded  belief  in  the  greatness 
and  antiquity  of  his  family,  combined  with  a  his- 
toric accuracy  about  equal  to  that  of  a  good  old 
dame  of  those  parts,  who  used  to  say  "  her  family 
corned  over  the  water,  that  she  knew ;  but  whether 
it  were  with  the  Conqueror,  or  whether  it  were  wi* 
Oliver,  she  could  n't  exactly  say !  " 

Then  he  became  great  on  the  subject  of  old 
county  families  in  general,  and  poured  out  all  the 
phials  of  his  wrath  on  "  that  confounded  upstart  of 
a  Newbroom,  Lord  Minchampstead,"  supplanting 
all  the  fine  old  blood  in  the  country.  "  Why,  sir, 
that  Pentremochyn,  and  Carcarrow  moors  too 

( good  shooting  there,  there  used  to  be),  they 

ought  to  be  mine,  sir,  if  every  man  had  his  rights  ! " 
And  then  followed  a  long  story ;  and  a  confused 
one  withal,  for  by  this  time  Mr.  Trebooze  had 
drunk  a  great  deal  too  much  wine,  and  as  he  be- 
came aware  of  the  fact,  became  proportionately 
anxious  that  Tom  should  drink  too  much  also ;  out 
of  which  story  Tom  picked  the  plain  facts,  that 
Trebooze's  father  had  mortgaged  Pentremochyn 
estate  for  more  than  its  value,  and  that  Lord 
Minchampstead  had  foreclosed ;  while  some  equally 
respectable  uncle,  or  cousin,  just  deceased,  had 
sold  the  reversion  of  Carcarrow  to  the  same  mighty 
cotton  Lord  twenty  years  before.  "And  this  is 
the  way,  sir,  the  land  gets  eaten  up  by  a  set  of 


214  Two  Years  Ago 

tinkers,  and  cobblers,  and  money-lending  jobbers, 
who  suck  the  blood  of  the  aristocracy !  "  The 
oaths  we  omit,  leaving  the  reader  to  pepper  Mr. 
Trebooze's  conversation  therewith,  up  to  any 
degree  of  heat  which  may  suit  his  palate. 

Tom  sympathized  with  him  deeply,  of  course; 
and  did  not  tell  him,  as  he  might  have  done,  that 
he  thought  the  sooner  such  cumberers  of  the 
ground  were  cleared  off,  whether  by  an  encum- 
bered estates'  act,  such  as  we  may  see  yet  in  Eng- 
land, or  by  their  own  suicidal  folly,  the  better  it 
would  be  for  the  universe  in  general,  and  perhaps 
for  themselves  in  particular.  But  he  only  answered 
with  pleasant  effrontery : 

"  Ah,  my  dear  sir,  I  am  sure  there  are  hundreds 
of  good  sportsmen  who  can  sympathize  with  you 
deeply.  The  wonder  is,  that  you  do  not  unite  and 
defend  yourselves.  For  not  only  in  the  west  of 
England,  but  in  Ireland,  and  in  Wales,  and  in  the 
north,  too,  if  one  is  to  believe  those  novels  of  Currer 
Bell's,  and  her  sister,  there  is  a  large  and  important 
class  of  landed  proprietors  of  the  same  stamp  as 
yourself,  and  exposed  to  the  very  same  dangers.  I 
wonder  at  times  that  you  do  not  all  join,  and  use 
your  combined  influence  on  the  Government." 

"  The  Government?  All  a  set  of  Whig  traitors ! 
Call  themselves  Conservative,  or  what  they  like. 
Traitors,  sir  !  from  that  fellow  Peel  upwards  —  all 
combined  to  crush  the  landed  gentry  —  ruin  the 
Church  —  betray  the  country  party  —  Disraeli  — 
Derby  —  Free-trade  —  ruined,  sir !  —  Maynooth  — 
Protection  —  treason  —  help  yourself,  and  pass  the 
— you  know,  old  fellow " 

And  Mr.  Trebooze's  voice  died  away,  and  he 
slumbered,  but  not  softly. 


Taking  Root  215 

The  door  opened,  and  in  marched  Mrs.  Trebooze, 
tall,  tawdry,  and  terrible. 

"  Mr.  Trebooze,  it's  past  eleven  o'clock !  " 

"  Hush,  my  dear  madam !  He  is  sleeping  so 
sweetly,"  said  Tom,  rising,  and  gulping  down  a 
glass,  not  of  wine,  but  of  strong  ammonia  and  water. 
The  rogue  had  put  a  phial  thereof  in  his  pocket 
that  morning,  expecting  that,  as  Trebooze  had 
said,  he  would  be  required  to  make  a  night  of  it. 

She  was  silent ;  for  to  rouse  her  tyrant  was  more 
than  she  dare  do.  If  awakened,  he  would  crave 
for  brandy-and-water ;  and  if  he  got  that  sweet 
poison,  he  would  probably  become  furious.  She 
stood  for  half  a  minute ;  and  Tom,  who  knew  her 
story  well,  watched  her  curiously. 

"She  is  a  fine  woman :  and  with  a  far  finer  heart 
in  her  than  that  brute.  Her  eyebrow  and  eye,  now, 
have  the  true  Siddons'  stamp ;  the  great  white 
forehead,  and  sharp-cut  little  nostril,  breathing 
scorn  —  and  what  a  Siddons-like  attitude  !  —  I 
should  like,  madam  to  see  the  child  again  before  I 
go." 

"  If  you  are  fit,  sir,"  answered  she. 

"  Brave  woman ;  comes  to  the  point  at  once.  —  I 
am  a  poor  doctor,  madam,  and  not  a  country 
gentleman ;  and  have  neither  money  nor  health  to 
spend  in  drinking  too  much  wine." 

"Then  why  do  you  encourage  him  in  it,  sir?  I 
had  expected  a  very  different  sort  of  conduct  from 
you,  sir." 

Tom  did  not  tell  her  what  she  would  not  (no 
woman  will)  understand ;  that  it  is  morally  and 
socially  impossible  to  escape  from  the  table  of  a 
fool,  till  either  he  or  you  are  conquered ;  and  she 
was  too  shrewd  to  be  taken  in  by  common-place 


21 6  Two  Years  Ago 

excuses ;  so  he  looked  her  very  full  in  the  face, 
and  replied  a  little  haughtily,  with  a  slow  and  deli- 
cate articulation,  using  his  lips  more  than  usual, 
and  yet  compressing  them : 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  madam,  if  I  have  uninten- 
tionally displeased  you :  but  if  you  ever  do  me 
the  honor  of  knowing  more  of  me,  you  will  be  the 
first  to  confess  that  your  words  are  unjust.  Do 
you  wish  me  to  see  your  son,  or  do  you  not?" 

Poor  Mrs.  Trebooze  looked  at  him  with  an  eye 
which  showed  that  she  had  been  accustomed  to 
study  character  keenly,  perhaps  in  self-defence. 
She  saw  that  Tom  was  sober ;  he  had  taken  care  to 
prove  that,  by  the  way  i  which  he  spoke ;  and  she 
saw,  too,  that  he  was  a  better  bred  man  than  her 
husband,  as  well  as  a  cleverer.  She  dropped  her 
eye  before  his ;  heaved  something  very  like  a  sigh ; 
and  then  said,  in  her  curt,  fierce  tone,  which  yet 
implied  a  sort  of  sullen  resignation : 

"Yes;  come  upstairs." 

Tom  went  up,  and  looked  at  the  boy  again,  as 
he  lay  sleeping.  A  beautiful  child  of  four  years 
old,  as  large  and  fair  a  child  as  man  need  see; 
and  yet  there  was  on  him  the  curse  of  his  father's 
sins ;  and  Tom  knew  it,  and  knew  that  his  mother 
knew  it  also. 

"  What  a  noble  boy !  "  said  he,  after  looking, 
not  without  honest  admiration,  upon  the  sleeping 
child,  who  had  kicked  off  his  bedclothes,  and  lay 
in  a  wild  graceful  attitude,  as  children  are  wont  to 
lie ;  just  like  an  old  Greek  statue  of  Cupid.  "  It 
all  depends  upon  you,  madam,  now." 

"  On  me  ?  "  she  asked,  in  a  startled,  suspicious 
tone. 

"  Yes.    He  is  a  magnificent  boy :  but  —  I  can 


Taking  Root  217 

only  give  palliatives.  It  depends  upon  your  care 
now." 

"  He  will  have  that,  at  least,  I  should  hope," 
she  said,  nettled. 

"  And  on  your  influence  ten  years  hence,"  went 
on  Tom. 

"My  influence?" 

"  Yes ;  only  keep  him  steady,  and  he  may  grow 
up  a  magnificent  man.  If  not  —  you  will  excuse 
me  —  but  you  must  not  let  him  live  as  freely  as 
his  father;  the  constitutions  of  the  two  are  very 
different." 

"Don't  talk  so,  sir.  Steady?  His  father  makes 
him  drunk  now,  if  he  can ;  teaches  him  to  swear, 
because  it  is  manly  —  God  help  him  and  me !  " 

Tom's  cunning  and  yet  kind  shaft  had  sped. 
He  guessed  that  with  a  coarse  woman  like  Mrs. 
Trebooze  his  best  plan  was  to  come  as  straight  to 
the  point  as  he  could;  and  he  was  right.  Ere 
half  an  hour  was  over,  that  woman  had  few  secrets 
on  earth  which  Tom  did  not  know. 

"  Let  me  give  you  one  hint  before  I  go,"  said  he 
at  last.  "  Persuade  your  husband  to  go  into  a 
militia  regiment." 

"  Why?  He  would  see  so  much  company,  and 
it  would  be  so  expensive." 

"  The  expense  would  repay  itself  ten  times  over. 
The  company  which  he  would  see  would  be  sober 
company,  in  which  he  would  be  forced  to  keep  in 
order.  He  would  have  something  to  do  in  the 
world ;  and  he  'd  do  it  well.  He  is  just  cut  out 
for  a  soldier,  and  might  have  made  a  gallant  one 
by  now,  if  he  had  had  other  men's  chances.  He 
will  find  he  does  his  militia  work  well ;  and  it  will 
be  a  new  interest,  and  a  new  pride,  and  a  new  life 


2 1 8  Two  Years  Ago 

to  him.  And  meanwhile,  madam,  what  you  have 
said  to  me  is  sacred.  I  do  not  pretend  to  advise  or 
interfere.  Only  tell  me  if  I  can  be  of  use  —  how, 
when,  and  where  —  and  command  me  as  your 
servant." 

And  Tom  departed,  having  struck  another  root ; 
and  was  up  at  four  the  next  morning  (he  never 
worked  at  night ;  for,  he  said,  he  never  could  trust 
after-dinner  brains),  drawing  out  a  detailed  report 
of  the  Pentremochyn  cottages,  which  he  sent  to 
Lord  Minchampstead,  with : 

"  And  your  lordship  will  excuse  my  saying,  that  to 
put  the  cottages  into  the  state  into  which  your  lordship, 
with  your  known  wish  for  progress  of  all  kinds,  would 
wish  to  see  them,  is  a  responsibility  which  I  dare  not 
take  on  myself,  as  it  would  involve  a  present  outlay  of  not 
less  than  ,£450.  This  sum  would  be  certainly  repaid  to 
your  lordship  and  your  tenants,  in  the  course  of  the  next 
three  years,  by  the  saving  in  poor-rates;  an  opinion 
for  which  I  subjoin  my  grounds  drawn  from  the  books 
of  the  medical  officer,  Mr.  Heale :  but  the  respon- 
sibility and  possible  unpopularity  which  employing  so 
great  a  sum  would  involve  is  more  than  I  can,  in  the 
present  dependent  condition  of  poor-law  medical  officers, 
dare  to  undertake,  in  justice  to  Mr.  Heale,  my  employer, 
save  at  your  special  comand.  I  am  bound,  however,  to 
inform  your  lordship,  that  this  outlay  would,  I  think, 
perfectly  defend  the  hamlets,  not  only  from  that  visit  of 
the  cholera  which  we  have  every  reason  to  expect  next 
summer,  but  also  from  those  zymotic  diseases  which  (as 
your  lordship  will  see  by  my  returns)  make  up  more  than 
sixty-five  per  cent  of  the  aggregate  sickness  of  the  estate." 

Which  letter  the  old  cotton  lord  put  in  his 
pocket,  rode  into  Whitbury  therewith,  and  showed 
it  to  Mark  Armsworth. 


Taking  Root  219 

"  Well,  Mr.  Armsworth,  what  am  I  to  do  ?  " 

"  Well,  my  Lord ;  I  told  you  what  sort  of  a  man 
you  'd  have  to  do  with ;  one  that  does  his  work 
thoroughly ;  and,  I  think,  pays  you  a  compliment, 
by  thinking  that  you  want  it  done  thoroughly." 

Lord  Minchampstead  was  of  the  same  opinion ; 
but  he  did  not  say  so.  Few,  indeed,  have  ever 
heard  Lord  Minchampstead  give  his  opinion: 
though  many  a  man  has  seen  him  act  on  it. 

"  I  '11  send  down  orders  to  my  agent." 

"Don't." 

"  Why,  then,  my  good  friend  ?  " 

"  Agents  are  always  in  league  with  farmers,  or 
guardians,  or  builders,  or  drain-tile  makers,  or 
attorneys,  or  bankers,  or  somebody;  and  either 
you  '11  be  told  that  the  work  don't  need  doing,  or 
have  a  job  brewed  out  of  it,  to  get  off  a  lot  of 
unsalable  drain-tiles,  or  cracked  soil-pans;  or  to 
get  farm  ditches  dug,  and  perhaps  the  highway 
rates  saved  building  culverts,  and  fifty  dodges 
beside.  I  know  their  game ;  and  you  ought,  too, 
by  now,  my  Lord,  begging  your  pardon." 

"  Perhaps  I  do,  Mark,"  said  his  lordship,  with  a 
chuckle. 

"  So,  I  say,  let  the  man  that  found  the  fox  run 
the  fox,  and  kill  the  fox,  and  take  the  brush 
home." 

"  And  so  it  shall  be,"  quoth  my  Lord  Minchamp- 
stead. 


CHAPTER  IX 

"AM  I  NOT  A  WOMAN  AND  A  SISTER?" 

BUT  what  was  the  mysterious  bond  between 
La  Cordifiamma  and  the  American,  which 
had  prevented  Scoutbush  from  following  the  ex- 
ample of  his  illustrious  progenitor,  and  taking  a 
viscountess  from  off  the  stage  ? 

Certainly,  any  one  who  had  seen  her  with  him 
on  the  morning  after  Scoutbush's  visit  to  the 
Mellots,  would  have  said  that,  if  the  cause  was 
love,  the  love  was  all  on  one  side. 

She  was  standing  by  the  fireplace  in  a  splendid 
pose,  her  arm  resting  on  the  chimney-piece,  the 
book  from  which  she  had  been  reciting  in  one 
hand,  the  other  playing  in  her  black  curls,  as  her 
eyes  glanced  back  ever  and  anon  at  her  own  pro- 
file in  the  mirror.  Stangrave  was  half  sitting  in  a 
low  chair  by  her  side,  half  kneeling  on  the  foot- 
stool before  her,  looking  up  beseechingly,  as  she 
looked  down  tyrannically. 

"  Stupid,  this  reciting?  Of  course  it  is !  I  want 
realities,  not  shams;  life,  not  the  stage;  nature, 
not  art." 

"  Throw  away  the  book,  then,  and  words,  and 
art,  and  live  !  " 

She  knew  well  what  he  meant ;  but  she  answered 
as  if  she  had  misunderstood  him. 

"  Thanks,  I  live  already,  and  in  good  company 
enough.  My  ghost-husbands  are  as  noble  as  they 


"Am  I  Not  a  Woman  and  Sister?"     221 

are  obedient;  do  all  which  I  demand  of  them,  and 
vanish  on  my  errands  when  I  tell  them.  Can  you 
guess  who  my  last  is  ?  Since  I  tired  of  Egmont,  I 
have  taken  Sir  Galahad,  the  spotless  knight.  Did 
you  ever  read  the  '  Mort  d'Arthur '  ?  " 

"  A  hundred  times." 

"  Of  course  !  "  and  she  spoke  in  a  tone  of  con- 
tempt so  strong  that  it  must  have  been  affected. 
"  What  have  you  not  read  ?  And  what  have  you 
copied?  No  wonder  that  these  English  have  been 
what  they  have  been  for  centuries,  while  their 
heroes  have  been  the  Galahads,  and  their  Homer 
the  '  Mort  d'Arthur.'  " 

"  Enjoy  your  Utopia !  "  said  he,  bitterly.  "  Do 
you  fancy  they  acted  up  to  their  ideals?  They 
dreamed  of  the  Quest  of  the  Sangreal :  but  which 
of  them  ever  went  upon  it?  " 

"  And  does  it  count  for  nothing  that  they  felt  it 
the  finest  thing  in  the  world  to  have  gone  on  it, 
had  it  been  possible?  Be  sure  if  their  ideal  was  so 
self-sacrificing,  so  lofty,  their  practice  was  ruled  by 
something  higher  than  the  almighty  dollar." 

"  And  so  are  some  other  men's,  Marie,"  answered 
he,  reproachfully. 

"Yes,  forsooth; — when  the  almighty  dollar  is 
there  already,  and  a  man  has  ten  times  as  much 
to  spend  every  day  as  he  can  possibly  invest  in 
French  cookery,  and  wines,  and  fine  clothes,  then 
he  begins  to  lay  out  his  surplus  nobly  on  self-edu- 
cation, and  the  patronage  of  art,  and  the  theatre 
—  for  merely  aesthetic  purposes,  of  course;  and 
when  the  lust  of  the  flesh  has  been  satisfied,  thinks 
himself  an  archangel,  because  he  goes  on  to  satisfy 
the  lust  of  the  eye  and  the  pride  of  life.  Christ 
was  of  old  the  model,  and  Sir  Galahad  was  the 


222  Two  Years  Ago 

hero.  Now  the  one  is  exchanged  for  Goethe,  and 
the  other  for  Wilhelm  Meister." 

"  Cruel !  You  know  that  my  Goethe  fever  is 
long  past.  How  would  you  have  known  of  its  ex- 
istence if  I  had  not  confessed  it  to  you  as  a  sin  of 
old  years?  Have  I  not  said  to  you,  again  and 
again,  show  me  the  thing  which  you  would  have 
me  do  for  your  sake,  and  see  if  I  will  not  do  it !  " 

"  For  my  sake?  A  noble  reason  !  Show  your- 
self the  thing  which  you  will  do  for  its  own  sake ; 
because  it  ought  to  be  done.  Show  it  yourself,  I 
say ;  I  cannot  show  you.  If  your  own  eyes  can- 
not see  the  Sangreal,  and  the  angels  who  are  bear- 
ing it  before  you,  it  is  because  they  are  dull  and 
gross ;  and  am  I  Milton's  archangel,  to  purge  them 
with  euphrasy  and  rue  ?  If  you  have  a  noble  heart, 
you  will  find  for  yourself  the  noblest  quest.  If 
not,  who  can  prove  to  you  that  it  is  noble  ? " 
And  tapping  impatiently  with  her  foot,  she  went 
on  to  herself: 

"  A  gentle  sound,  an  awful  light ! 

Three  angels  bear  the  holy  Grail: 
With  folded  feet,  in  stoles  of  white, 

On  sleeping  wings  they  sail. 
Ah,  blessed  vision  !  blood  of  God ! 

The  spirit  beats  her  mortal  bars, 
As  down  dark  tides  the  glory  slides, 

And  star-like  mingles  with  the  stars." 

"Why,  there  was  not  a  knight  of  the  round 
table,  was  there,  who  did  not  give  up  all  to  go 
upon  that  Quest,  though  only  one  was  found 
worthy  to  fulfil  it?  But  nowadays,  the  knights  sit 
drinking  hock  and  champagne,  or  drive  sulky- 
wagons,  and  never  fancy  that  there  is  a  Quest  at 
all." 


"Am  I  Not  a  Woman  and  Sister?"    223 

"  Why  talk  in  these  parables?  " 

"  So  the  Jews  asked  of  their  prophets.  They 
are  no  parables  to  my  ghost-husband  Sir  Galahad. 
Now  go,  if  you  please ;  I  must  be  busy,  and  write 
letters." 

He  rose  with  a  look,  half  of  disappointment, 
half  amused,  and  yet  his  face  bore  a  firmness 
which  seemed  to  say,  "You  will  be  mine  yet." 
As  he  rose,  he  cast  his  eye  upon  the  writing-table, 
and  upon  a  letter  which  lay  there :  and  as  he  did 
so,  his  cheek  grew  pale,  and  his  brows  knitted. 

The  latter  was  addressed  to  "  Thomas  Thurnall, 
Esq.,  Aberalva." 

"Is  this,  then,  your  Sir  Galahad?"  asked  he, 
after  a  pause,  during  which  he  had  choked  down 
his  rising  jealousy,  while  she  looked  first  at  herself 
in  the  glass,  and  then  at  him,  and  then  at  herself 
again,  with  a  determined  and  triumphant  air. 

"And  what  if  it  be?" 

"  So  he,  then,  has  achieved  the  Quest  of  the 
Sangreal  ?  " 

Stangrave  spoke  bitterly,  and  with  an  emphasis 
upon  the  "  he ;  "  and  : 

.  "What  if  he  have?  Do  you  know  him?"  an- 
swered she,  while  her  face  lighted  up  with  eager 
interest,  which  she  did  not  care  to  conceal,  per- 
haps chose,  in  her  woman's  love  of  tormenting,  to 
parade. 

"  I  knew  a  man  of  that  name  once,"  he  replied, 
in  a  carefully  careless  tone,  which  did  not  deceive 
her;  "an  adventurer  —  a  doctor,  if  I  recollect  — 
who  had  been  in  Texas  and  Mexico,  and  I  know 
not  where  besides.  Agreeable  enough  he  was; 
but  as  for  your  Quest  of  the  Sangreal,  whatever 
it  may  be,  he  seemed  to  have  as  little  notion  of 


224  Two  Years  Ago 

anything  beyond  his  own  interest  as  any  Greek  I 
ever  met." 

"  Unjust !  Your  words  only  show  how  little  you 
can  see !  That  man,  of  all  men  I  ever  met,  saw 
the  Quest  at  once,  and  followed  it,  at  the  risk  of 
his  own  life,  as  far  at  least  as  he  was  concerned 
with  it  —  ay,  even  when  he  pretended  to  see  noth- 
ing. Oh,  there  is  more  generosity  in  that  man's 
affected  selfishness,  than  in  all  the  noisy  good- 
nature which  I  have  met  with  in  the  world.  Thur- 
nall !  oh,  you  know  his  nobleness  as  little  as  he 
knows  it  himself." 

"  Then  he,  I  am  to  suppose,  is  your  phantom- 
husband,  for  as  long,  at  least,  as  your  present 
dream  lasts?"  asked  he,  with  white,  compressed 
lips. 

"  He  might  have  been,  I  believe,"  she  answered 
carelessly,  "  if  he  had  even  taken  the  trouble  to 
ask  me." 

"  Marie,  this  is  too  much !  Do  you  not  know 
to  whom  you  speak?  To  one  who  deserves,  if 
not  common  courtesy,  at  least  common  mercy." 

"  Because  he  adores  me,  and  so  forth  ?  So  has 
many  a  man  done ;  or  told  me  that  he  has  done 
so.  Do  you  know  that  I  might  be  a  viscountess 
to-morrow,  so  Sabina  informs  me,  if  I  but  chose?  " 

"  A  viscountess  ?  Pray  accept  your  effete  Eng- 
lish aristocrat,  and,  as  far  as  I  am  concerned,  ac- 
cept my  best  wishes  for  your  happiness." 

"  My  effete  English  aristocrat,  did  I  show  him 
that  pedigree  of  mine  which  I  have  ere  now 
threatened  to  show  you,  would  perhaps  be  less 
horrified  at  it  than  you  are." 

"Marie,  I  cannot  bear  this!  Tell  me  only 
what  you  mean.  What  care  I  for  pedigree?  I 


"  Am  I  Not  a  Woman  and  Sister  ?  "    225 

want  you  —  worship  you  —  and  that  is  enough, 
Marie  !  " 

"  You  admire  me  because  I  am  beautiful.  What 
thanks  do  I  owe  you  for  finding  out  so  patent  a 
fact?  What  do  you  do  more  to  me  than  I  do  to 
myself?  "  and  she  glanced  back  once  more  at  the 
mirror. 

"  Marie,  you  know  that  your  words  are  false ;  I 
do  more " 

"  You  admire  me,"  interrupted  she,  "  because  I 
am  clever.  What  thanks  to  you  for  that,  again? 
What  do  you  do  more  to  me  than  you  do  to 
yourself?  " 

"  And  this,  after  all " 

"After  what?  After  you  found  me,  or  rather 
I  found  you  —  you  the  critic,  the  arbiter  of  the 
green-room,  the  highly-organized  do-nothing  — 
teaching  others  how  to  do  nothing  most  grace- 
fully; the  would-be  Goethe  who  must,  for  the 
sake  of  his  own  self-development,  try  experiments 
on  every  weak  woman  whom  he  met.  And  I,  the 
new  phenomenon,  whom  you  must  appreciate  to 
show  your  own  taste,  patronize  to  show  your  own 
liberality,  develop  to  show  your  own  insight  into 
character.  You  found  yourself  mistaken !  You 
had  attempted  to  play  with  the  tigress  —  and 
behold  she  was  talons;  to  angle  for  the  silly  fish 
—  and  behold  the  fish  was  the  better  angler,  and 
caught  you." 

"  Marie,  have  mercy  1     Is  your  heart  iron? " 

"  No ;  but  fire,  as  my  name  shows :  "  and  she 
stood  looking  down  on  him  with  a  glare  of  dread- 
ful beauty. 

"Fire,  indeed!" 

"  Yes,  fire,  that  I  may  scorch  you,  kindle  you, 


226  Two  Years  Ago 

madden  you,  to  do  my  work,  and  wear  the  heart 
of  fire  which  I  wear  day  and  night  J  " 

Stangrave  looked  at  her  startled.  Was  she 
mad?  Her  face  did  not  say  so:  her  brow  was 
white,  her  features  calm,  her  eye  fierce  and  con- 
temptuous, but  clear,  steady,  full  of  meaning. 

"  So  you  know  Mr.  Thurnall  ?  "  said  she,  after  a 
while. 

"Yes;  why  do  you  ask?" 

"  Because  he  is  the  only  friend  I  have  on  earth." 

"The  only  friend,  Marie?" 

"  The  only  one,"  answered  she,  calmly,  "  who, 
seeing  the  right,  has  gone  and  done  it  forthwith. 
When  did  you  see  him  last?  " 

"  I  have  not  been  acquainted  with  Mr.  Thurnall 
for  some  years,"  said  Stangrave,  haughtily. 

"  In  plain  words,  you  have  quarrelled  with 
him?" 

Stangrave  bit  his  lip. 

"  He  and  I  had  a  difference.  He  insulted  my 
nation,  and  we  parted." 

She  laughed  a  long,  loud,  bitter  laugh,  which 
rang  through  Stangrave's  ears. 

"  Insulted  your  nation  ?  And  on  what  grounds, 
pray?" 

"  About  that  accursed  slavery  question !  " 

La  Cordifiamma  looked  at  him  with  firm-closed 
lips  a  while. 

"  So,  then  !  I  was  not  aware  of  this !  Even  so 
long  ago  you  saw  the  Sangreal,  and  did  not  know 
it  when  you  saw  it.  No  wonder  that  since  then 
you  have  been  staring  at  it  for  months,  in  your 
very  hands,  played  with  it,  admired  it,  made  verses 
about  it,  to  show  off  your  own  taste,  and  yet  were 
blind  to  it  the  whole  time !  Farewell,  then  I  " 


"Am  I  Not  a  Woman  and  Sister?"    227 

"  Marie,  what  do  you  mean  ? "  and  Stangrave 
caught  both  her  hands. 

"  Hush,  if  you  please.  I  know  you  are  eloquent 
enough,  when  you  choose,  though  you  have  been 
somewhat  dumb  and  monosyllabic  to-night  in  the 
presence  of  the  actress  whom  you  undertook  to 
educate.  But  I  know  that  you  can  be  eloquent, 
so  spare  me  any  brilliant  appeals,  which  can  only 
go  to  prove  that  already  settled  fact.  Between  you 
and  me  lie  two  great  gulfs.  The  one  I  have  told 
you  of;  and  from  it  I  shrink.  The  other  I  have 
not  told  you  of;  from  it  you  would  shrink." 

"  The  first  is  your  Quest  of  the  Sangreal." 

She  smiled  assent,  bitterly  enough. 

"And  the  second?" 

She  did  not  answer.  She  was  looking  at  herself 
in  the  mirror ;  and  Stangrave,  in  spite  of  his  almost 
doting  affection,  flushed  with  anger,  almost  con- 
tempt, at  her  vanity. 

And  yet,  was  it  vanity  which  was  expressed  in 
that  face?  No;  but  dread,  horror, almost  disgust, 
as  she  gazed  with  sidelong,  startled  eyes,  strug- 
gling, and  yet  struggling  in  vain,  to  turn  her  face 
from  some  horrible  sight,  as  if  her  own  image  had 
been  the  Gorgon's  head. 

"What  is  it?     Marie,  speak !  " 

But  she  answered  nothing.  For  that  last  ques- 
tion she  had  no  heart  to  answer ;  no  heart  to  tell 
him  that  in  her  veins  were  some  drops,  at  least,  of 
the  blood  of  slaves.  Instinctively  she  had  looked 
round  at  the  mirror — for  might  he  not,  if  he  had 
eyes,  discover  that  secret  for  himself?  Were  there 
not  in  her  features  traces  of  that  taint?  And  as 
she  looked,  —  was  it  the  mere  play  of  her  excited 
fancy,  —  or  did  her  eyelid  slope  more  and  more, 


228  Two  Years  Ago 

her  nostril  shorten  and  curl,  her  lips  enlarge,  her 
mouth  itself  protrude  ? 

It  was  more  than  the  play  of  fancy ;  for  Stan- 
grave  saw  it  as  well  as  she.  Her  actress's  imagina- 
tion, fixed  on  the  African  type  with  an  intensity 
proportioned  to  her  dread  of  seeing  it  in  herself, 
had  moulded  her  features,  for  the  moment,  into  the 
very  shape  which  it  dreaded.  And  Stangrave  saw 
it,  and  shuddered  as  he  saw. 

Another  half  minute,  and  that  face  also  had 
melted  out  of  the  mirror,  at  least  for  Marie's  eyes ; 
and  in  its  place  an  ancient  negress,  white-haired, 
withered  as  the  wrinkled  ape,  but  with  eyes  closed 
—  in  death.  Marie  knew  that  face  well;  a  face 
which  haunted  many  a  dream  of  hers ;  once  seen, 
but  never  forgotten  since ;  for  to  that  old  dame's 
coffin  had  her  mother,  the  gay  quadroon  woman, 
flaunting  in  finery  which  was  the  price  of  shame, 
led  Marie  when  she  was  but  a  three  years'  child ; 
and  Marie  had  seen  her  bend  over  the  corpse,  and 
call  it  her  dear  old  granny,  and  weep  bitter  tears. 

Suddenly  she  shook  off  the  spell,  and  looked 
round  and  down,  terrified,  self-conscious.  Her 
eye  caught  Stangrave's ;  she  saw,  or  thought  she 
saw,  by  the  expression  of  his  face,  that  he  knew  all, 
and  burst  away  with  a  shriek. 

He  sprang  up  and  caught  her  in  his  arms. 
"  Marie  !  Beloved  Marie  !  "  She  looked  up  at 
him  struggling ;  the  dark  expression  had  vanished, 
and  Stangrave's  love-blinded  eyes  could  see  noth- 
ing in  that  face  but  the  refined  and  yet  rich  beauty 
of  the  Italian. 

"  Marie,  this  is  mere  madness ;  you  excite  your- 
self till  you  know  not  what  you  say,  or  what  you 
are " 


"Am  I  Not  a  Woman  and  Sister?"    229 

"  I  know  what  I  am,"  murmured  she ;  but  he 
hurried  on  unheeding. 

"  You  love  me,  you  know  you  love  me  ;  and  you 
madden  yourself  by  refusing  to  confess  it !  "  He 
felt  her  heart  throb  as  he  spoke,  and  knew  that  he 
spoke  truth.  "What  gulfs  are  these  you  dream 
of?  No  ;  I  will  not  ask.  There  is  no  gulf  between 
me  and  one  whom  I  adore,  who  has  thrown  a 
spell  over  me  which  I  cannot  resist,  which  I  glory 
in  not  resisting ;  for  you  have  been  my  guide,  my 
morning  star,  which  has  awakened  me  to  new  life. 
If  I  have  a  noble  purpose  upon  earth,  if  I  have 
roused  myself  from  that  conceited  dream  of  self- 
culture  which  now  looks  to  me  so  cold,  and  barren, 
and  tawdry,  into  the  hope  of  becoming  useful, 
beneficent  —  to  whom  do  I  owe  it  but  to  you, 
Marie?  No ;  there  is  no  gulf,  Marie  !  You  are  my 
wife,  and  you  alone !  "  And  he  held  her  so  firmly, 
and  gazed  down  upon  her  with  such  strong  man- 
hood, that  her  woman's  heart  quailed;  and  he 
might,  perhaps,  have  conquered  then  and  there, 
had  not  Sabina,  summoned  by  her  shriek,  entered 
hastily. 

"  Good  heavens  !  what  is  the  matter?  " 

"Wait  but  one  minute,  Mrs.  Mellot,"  said  he; 
"  the  next,  I  shall  introduce  you  to  my  bride." 

"  Never !  never !  never  !  "  cried  she,  and  break- 
ing from  him,  flew  into  Sabina's  arms.  "Leave 
me,  leave  me  to  bear  my  curse  alone !  " 

And  she  broke  out  into  such  wild  weeping,  and 
refused  so  wildly  to  hear  another  word  from  Stan- 
grave,  that  he  went  away  in  despair,  the  prize 
snatched  from  his  grasp  in  the  very  moment  of 
seeming  victory. 

He  went  in  search  of  Claude,  who  had  agreed  to 


230  Two  Years  Ago 

meet  him  at  the  Exhibition  in  Trafalgar  Square. 
Thither  Stangrave  rolled  away  in  his  cab,  his  heart 
full  of  many  thoughts.  Marie's  words  about  him, 
though  harsh  and  exaggerated,  were  on  the  whole 
true.  She  had  fascinated  him  utterly.  To  marry 
her  was  now  the  one  object  of  his  life;  she  had 
awakened  in  him,  as  he  had  confessed,  noble  desires 
to  be  useful ;  but  the  discovery  that  he  was  to  be 
useful  to  the  negro,  that  abolition  was  the  Sangreal 
in  the  quest  of  which  he  was  to  go  forth,  was  as 
.disagreeable  a  discovery  as  he  could  well  have 
made. 

From  public  life  in  any  shape,  with  all  its  vulgar 
noise,  its  petty  chicanery,  its  pandering  to  the  mob 
whom  he  despised,  he  had  always  shrunk,  as  so 
many  Americans  of  his  stamp  have  done.  He  had 
no  wish  to  struggle,  unrewarded  and  disappointed, 
in  the  ranks  of  the  minority ;  while  to  gain  place 
and  power  on  the  side  of  the  majority  was  to  lend 
himself  to  that  fatal  policy  which,  ever  since  the 
Missouri  Compromise  of  1820,  has  been  gradually 
making  the  Northern  States  more  and  more  the 
tools  of  the  Southern  ones.  He  had  no  wish  to  be 
threatened  in  Congress  with  having  his  Northerner's 
"  ears  nailed  to  the  counter,  like  his  own  base 
coin,"  or  to  be  informed  that  he,  with  the  1 7,000,000 
of  the  North,  were  the  "  White  Slaves  "  of  a  south- 
ern aristocracy  of  350,000  slaveholders.  He  had 
enough  comprehension  of,  enough  admiration  for 
the  noble  principles  of  the  American  Constitution 
to  see  that  the  Democratic  mobs  of  Irish  and  Ger- 
mans, who  were  stupidly  playing  into  the  hands 
of  the  Southerners,  were  not  exactly  carrying  them 
out;  but  he  had  no  mind  to  face  either  Irish  or 
Southerners.  The  former  were  too  vulgar  for  his 


"  Am  I  Not  a  Woman  and  Sister  ?  "    231 

delicacy;  the  latter  too  aristocratic  for  his  pride. 
Sprung,  as  he  held  (and  rightly),  from  as  fine  old 
English  blood  as  any  Virginian  (though  it  did  hap- 
pen to  be  Puritan,  and  not  Cavalier),  he  had  no 
lust  to  come  into  contact  with  men  who  considered 
him  much  further  below  them  in  rank  than  an 
English  footman  is  below  an  English  nobleman ; 
who,  indeed,  would  some  of  them  look  down  on 
the  English  nobleman  himself  as  a  mushroom  of 
yesterday.  So  he  compounded  with  his  conscience 
by  ignoring  the  whole  matter,  and  by  looking  on 
the  state  of  public  affairs  on  his  side  of  the  Atlan- 
tic with  a  cynicism  which  very  soon  (as  is  usual 
with  rich  men)  passed  into  Epicureanism.  Poetry 
and  music,  pictures  and  statues,  amusement  and 
travel,  became  his  idols,  and  cultivation  his  sub- 
stitute for  the  plain  duty  of  patriotism  ;  and  wan- 
dering luxuriously  over  the  world,  he  learnt  to 
sentimentalize  over  cathedrals  and  monasteries, 
pictures  and  statues,  saints  and  kaisers,  with  a  lazy 
regret  that  such  "  forms  of  beauty  and  nobleness  " 
were  no  longer  possible  in  a  world  of  scrip  and 
railroads  ;  but  without  any  notion  that  it  was  his 
duty  to  reproduce  in  his  own  life,  or  that  of  his 
country,  as  much  as  he  could  of  the  said  beauty 
and  nobleness.  And  now  he  was  sorely  tried.  It 
was  interesting  enough  to  "  develop  "  the  peculiar 
turn  of  Marie's  genius,  by  writing  for  her  plays 
about  liberty,  just  as  he  would  have  written  plays 
about  jealousy,  or  anything  else  for  representing 
which  she  had  "  capabilities."  But  to  be  called  on 
to  act  in  that  slavery  question,  the  one  on  which 
he  knew  (as  all  sensible  Americans  do)  that  the 
life  and  death  of  his  country  depended,  and  which 
for  that  very  reason  he  had  carefully  ignored  till  a 


232  Two  Years  Ago 

more  convenient  season,  finding  in  its  very  difficulty 
and  danger  an  excuse  for  leaving  it  to  solve  itself: 
to  have  this  thrust  on  him,  and  by  her,  as  the  price 
of  the  thing  which  he  must  have,  or  die  !  If  she 
had  asked  for  his  right  hand,  he  would  have  given 
it  sooner ;  and  he  entered  the  Royal  Academy 
that  day  in  much  the  same  humor  as  that  of  a 
fine  lady  who  should  find  herself  suddenly  dragged 
from  the  ballroom  into  the  dust-hole,  in  her 
tenderest  array  of  gauze  and  jewels,  and  there 
peremptorily  compelled  to  sift  the  cinders  under 
the  superintendence  of  the  sweep  and  the  pot-toy. 

Glad  to  escape  from  questions  which  he  had 
rather  not  answer  too  soon,  he  went  in  search  of 
Claude,  and  found  him  before  one  of  those  pre- 
Raphaelite  pictures,  which  Claude  does  not  appre- 
ciate as  he  ought. 

" Desinit  in  Ctdicem  mulier  formosa  supernt" 
said  Stangrave,  as  he  looked  over  Claude's  shoul- 
der ;  "  but  I  suppose  he  followed  nature,  and  copied 
his  model." 

"  That  he  did  n't,"  said  Claude,  "  for  I  know  who 
his  model  was  ;  but  if  he  did,  he  had  no  business 
to  do  so.  I  object  on  principle  to  these  men's 
notion  of  what  copying  nature  means.  I  don't 
deny  him  talent.  I  am  ready  to  confess  that  there 
is  more  imagination  and  more  honest  work  in  that 
picture  than  in  any  one  in  the  room.  The  hysteri- 
cal, all  but  grinning  joy  upon  the  mother's  face  is 
a  miracle  of  truth :  I  have  seen  the  expression 
more  than  once  ;  doctors  see  it  often,  in  the  sudden 
revulsion  from  terror  and  agony  to  certainty  and 
peace  ;  I  only  marvel  where  he  ever  met  it ;  but 
the  general  effect  is  unpleasing,  marred  by  patches 
of  sheer  ugliness,  like  that  child's  foot.  There  is 


"Am  I  Not  a  Woman  and  Sister?"    233 

the  same  mistake  in  all  his  pictures.  Whatever 
they  are,  they  are  not  beautiful;  and  no  magnifi- 
cence of  surface-coloring  will  make  up,  in  my 
eyes,  for  wilful  ugliness  of  form.  I  say  that  nature 
is  beautiful;  and  therefore  nature  cannot  have 
been  truly  copied,  or  the  general  effect  would  have 
been  beautiful  also.  I  never  found  out  the  fallacy 
till  the  other  day,  when  looking  at  a  portrait  by 
one  of  them.  The  woman  for  whom  it  was  meant 
was  standing  by  my  side,  young  and  lovely ;  the 
portrait  hung  there  neither  young  nor  lovely,  but 
a  wrinkled  caricature  twenty  years  older  than  the 
model." 

"  I  surely  know  the  portrait  you  mean ;  Lady 
D V 

"Yes.  He  had  simply,  under  pretence  of  fol- 
lowing nature,  caricatured  her  into  a  woman  twenty 
years  older  than  she  is." 

"  But  did  you  ever  see  a  modern  portrait  which 
more  perfectly  expressed  character;  which  more 
completely  fulfilled  the  requirements  which  you 
laid  down  a  few  evenings  since?" 

"  Never ;  and  that  makes  me  all  the  more  cross 
with  the  wilful  mistake  of  it.  He  had  painted 
every  wrinkle." 

"Why  not,  if  they  were  there?  " 

"  Because  he  had  painted  a  face  not  one-twentieth 
of  the  size  of  life.  What  right  had  he  to  cram  into 
that  small  space  all  the  marks  which  nature  had 
spread  over  a  far  larger  one?" 

"  Why  not,  again,  if  he  diminished  the  marks  in 
proportion?  " 

"Just  what  neither  he  nor  any  man  could  do, 
without  making  them  so  small  as  to  be  invisible, 
save  under  a  microscope :  and  the  result  was,  that 


234  Two  Years  Ago 

he  had  caricatured  overy  wrinkle,  as  his  friend  has 
in  those  horrible  knuckles  of  Shem's  wife.  Be- 
sides, I  deny  utterly  your  assertion  that  one  is 
bound  to  paint  what  is  there.  On  that  very  fallacy 
are  they  all  making  shipwreck." 

"  Not  paint  what  is  there  ?  And  you  are  the 
man  who  talks  of  art  being  highest  when  it  copies 
nature." 

"  Exactly.  And  therefore  you  must  paint,  not 
what  is  there,  but  what  you  see  there.  They  for- 
get that  human  beings  are  men  with  two  eyes,  and 
not  daguerreotype  lenses  with  one  eye,  and  so  are 
contriving  and  striving  to  introduce  into  their 
pictures  the  very  defect  of  the  daguerreotype 
which  the  stereoscope  is  required  to  correct." 

"I  comprehend.  They  forget  that  the  double 
vision  of  our  two  eyes  gives  a  softness,  and  indis- 
tinctness, and  roundness,  to  every  outline." 

"  Exactly  so ;  and  therefore,  while  for  distant 
landscapes,  motionless,  and  already  softened  by 
atmosphere,  the  daguerreotype  is  invaluable  (I 
shall  do  nothing  else  this  summer,  but  work  at 
it),  yet  for  taking  portraits,  in  any  true  sense,  it 
will  be  always  useless,  not  only  for  the  reason  I 
just  gave,  but  for  another  one  which  the  pre- 
Raphaelites  have  forgotten." 

"  Because  all  the  features  cannot  be  in  focus  at 
once?" 

"  Oh  no,  I  am  not  speaking  of  that.  Art,  for 
aught  I  know,  may  overcome  that ;  for  it  is  a  mere 
defect  in  the  instrument.  What  I  mean  is  this :  it 
tries  to  represent  as  still  what  never  yet  was  still 
for  the  thousandth  part  of  a  second :  that  is,  the 
human  face;  and  as  seen  by  a  spectator  who  is 
perfectly  still,  which  no  man  ever  yet  was.  My 


"Am  I  Not  a  Woman  and  Sister?"    235 

dear  fellow,  don't  you  see  that  what  some  painters 
call  idealizing  a  portrait  is,  if  it  be  wisely  done, 
really  painting  for  you  the  face  which  you  see, 
and  know,  and  love;  her  ever-shifting  features, 
with  expression  varying  more  rapidly  than  the 
gleam  of  the  diamond  on  her  finger;  features 
which  you,  in  your  turn,  are  looking  at  with  ever- 
shifting  eyes ;  while,  perhaps,  if  it  is  a  face  which 
you  love  and  have  lingered  over,  a  dozen  other 
expressions  equally  belonging  to  it  are  hanging  in 
your  memory,  and  blending  themselves  with  the 
actual  picture  on  your  retina :  —  till  every  little 
angle  is  somewhat  rounded,  every  little  wrinkle 
somewhat  softened,  every  little  shade  somewhat 
blended  with  the  surrounding  light,  so  that  the  sum 
total  of  what  you  see,  and  are  intended  by  Heaven 
to  see,  is  something  far  softer,  lovelier  —  younger, 
perhaps,  thank  Heaven  —  than  it  would  look  if 
your  head  was  screwed  down  in  a  vice,  to  look 
with  one  eye  at  her  head  screwed  down  in  a  vice 
also :  —  though  even  that,  thanks  to  the  muscles 
of  the  eye,  would  not  produce  the  required  ugli- 
ness; and  the  only  possible  method  of  fulfilling 
the  pre-Raphaelite  ideal  would  be,  to  set  a  petrified 
Cyclops  to  paint  his  petrified  brother." 

"  You  are  spiteful." 

"  Not  at  all.  I  am  standing  up  for  art,  and  for 
nature  too.  For  instance:  Sabina  has  wrinkles. 
She  says,  too,  that  she  has  gray  hairs  coming.  The 
former  I  won't  see,  and  therefore  don't  The  latter 
I  can't  see,  because  I  am  not  looking  for  them." 

"  Nor  I  either,"  said  Stangrave,  smiling.  "  I 
assure  you  the  announcement  is  new  to  me." 

"  Of  course.     Who  can  see  wrinkles  in  the  light 
of  those  eyes,  that  smile,  that  complexion?" 
Vol.  10— K 


236  Two  Years  Ago 

"  Certainly,"  said  Stangrave,  "  if  I  asked  for  her 
portrait,  as  I  shall  do  some  day,  and  the  artist  sat 
down  and  painted  the  said  '  wastes  of  time,'  on  pre- 
tence of  their  being  there,  I  should  consider  it  an 
impertinence  on  his  part.  What  business  has  he  to 
spy  out  what  nature  is  taking  such  charming  trouble 
to  conceal?" 

"  Again,"  said  Claude,  "  such  a  face  as  Cordi- 
fiamma's.  When  it  is  at  rest,  in  deep  thought, 
there  are  lines  in  it  which  utterly  puzzle  one — 
touches  which  are  Eastern,  Kabyle,  almost  quad- 
roon." 

Stangrave  started.  Claude  went  on  unconscious : 
"But  who  sees  them  in  the  light  of  that  beauty? 
They  are  defects,  no  doubt,  but  defects  which  no 
one  would  observe  without  deep  study  of  the  face. 
They  express  her  character  no  more  than  a  scar 
would;  and  therefore  when  I  paint  her,  as  I  must 
and  will,  I  shall  utterly  ignore  them.  If,  on  the 
other  hand,  I  met  the  same  lines  in  a  face  which  I 
knew  to  have  quadroon  blood  in  it,  I  should  re- 
ligiously copy  them ;  because  then  they  would  be 
integral  elements  of  the  face.  You  understand?" 
"Understand?  —  yes,"  answered  Stangrave,  in  a 
tone  which  made  Claude  look  up. 

That  strange  scene  of  half  an  hour  before  flashed 
across  him.  What  if  it  were  no  fancy?  What  if 
Marie  had  African  blood  in  her  veins?  And 
Stangrave  shuddered,  and  felt  for  the  moment  that 
thousands  of  pounds  would  be  a  cheap  price  to  pay 
for  the  discovery  that  his  fancy  was  a  false  one. 

"  Yes  —  oh  —  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  he, 
recovering  himself.  "I  was  thinking  of  some- 
thing else.  But,  as  you  say,  what  if  she  had 
quadroon  blood?  " 


"Am  I  Not  a  Woman  and  Sister?"     237 

"I?     I  never  said  so,  or  dreamt  of  it." 

"  Oh !  I  mistook.  Do  you  know,  though, 
where  she  came  from  ?  " 

"  I  ?  You  forget,  my  dear  fellow,  that  you 
yourself  introduced  her  to  us." 

"  Of  course ;  but  I  thought  Mrs.  Mellot  might 
—  women  always  make  confidences." 

"  All  we  know  is,  what  I  suppose  you  knew 
long  ago,  that  her  most  intimate  friend,  next  to 
you,  seems  to  be  an  old  friend  of  ours,  named 
Thurnall." 

"  An  old  friend  of  yours  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes ;  we  have  known  him  these  fifteen 
years.  Met  him  first  at  Paris ;  and  after  that  went 
round  the  world  with  him,  and  saw  infinite  advent- 
ures. Sabina  and  I  spent  three  months  with  him 
once,  among  the  savages  in  a  South-sea  Island, 
and  a  very  pretty  romance  our  stay  and  our 
escape  would  make.  We  were  all  three,  I  believe, 
to  have  been  cooked  and  eaten,  if  Tom  had  not 
got  us  off  by  that  wonderful  address  which,  if  you 
know  him,  you  must  know  well  enough." 

"  Yes,"  answered  Stangrave,  coldly,  as  in  a 
dream;  "  I  have  known  Mr.  Thurnall  in  past 
years;  but  not  in  connection  with  La  Signora 
Cordifiamma.  I  was  not  aware  till  this  moment — 
this  morning,  I  mean  —  that  they  knew  each  other." 

"You  astound  me;  why,  she  talks  of  him  to 
us  all  day  long,  as  of  one  to  whom  she  has  the 
deepest  obligations;  she  was  ready  to  rush  into 
our  arms  when  she  first  found  that  we  knew  him. 
He  is  a  greater  hero  in  her  eyes,  I  sometimes 
fancy,  than  even  you  are.  She  does  nothing  (or 
fancies  that  she  does  nothing,  for  you  know  her 
pretty  wilfulness)  without  writing  for  his  advice." 


238  Two  Years  Ago 

"la  hero  in  her  eyes  ?  I  was  really  not  aware 
of  that  fact,"  said  Stangrave,  more  coldly  ihan 
ever;  for  bitter  jealousy  had  taken  possession  of 
his  heart.  "  Do  you  know,  then,  what  this  same 
obligation  may  be?  " 

"  I  never  asked.  I  hate  gossiping,  and  I  make 
a  rule  to  inquire  into  no  secrets  but  such  as  are 
voluntarily  confided  to  me ;  and  I  know  that  she 
has  never  told  Sabina." 

"  I  suppose  she  is  married  to  him.  That  is  the 
simplest  explanation  of  the  mystery." 

"Impossible!  What  can  you  mean?  If  she 
ever  marries  living  man,  she  will  marry  you." 

"  Then  she  will  never  marry  living  man,"  said 
Stangrave  to  himself.  "  Good-bye,  my  dear  fellow; 
I  have  an  engagement  at  the  Traveller's."  And 
away  went  Stangrave,  leaving  Claude  sorely  puz- 
zled, but  little  dreaming  of  the  powder-magazine 
into  which  he  had  put  a  match. 

But  he  was  puzzled  still  more  that  night,  when 
by  the  latest  post  a  note  came. 

"  From  Stangrave  !  "  said  Claude.  "  Why,  in 
the  name  of  all  wonders !  "  —  and  he  read : 

"  Good-bye.  I  am  just  starting  for  the  Continent, 
on  sudden  and  urgent  business.  What  my  destination 
is  I  hardly  can  tell  you  yet.  You  will  hear  from  me  in 
the  course  of  the  summer." 

Claude's  countenance  fell,  and  the  note  fell  like- 
wise. Sabina  snatched  it  up,  read  it,  and  gave  La 
Cordifiamma  a  look  which  made  her  spring  from 
the  sofa,  and  snatch  it  in  turn. 

She  read  it  through,  with  trembling  hands  and 
blanching  cheeks,  and  then  dropped  fainting  upon 
the  floor. 


"Am  I  Not  a  Woman  and  Sister?"    239 

They  laid  her  on  the  sofa,  and  while  they  were 
recovering  her,  Claude  told  Sabina  the  only  clue 
which  he  had  to  the  American's  conduct,  namely, 
that  afternoon's  conversation. 

Sabina  shook  her  head  over  it ;  for  to  her,  also, 
the  American's  explanation  had  suggested  itself. 
Was  Marie  Thurnall's  wife?  Or  did  she  —  it  was 
possible,  however  painful  —  stand  to  him  in  some 
less  honorable  relation,  which  she  would  fain  for- 
get now,  in  a  new  passion  for  Stangrave?  For 
that  Marie  loved  Stangrave,  Sabina  knew  well 
enough. 

The  doubt  was  so  ugly  that  it  must  be  solved ; 
and  when  she  had  got  the  poor  thing  safe  into  her 
bedroom  she  alluded  to  it  as  gently  as  she  could. 

Marie  sprang  up  in  indignant  innocence. 

"  He  ?  Whatever  he  may  be  to  others,  I  know 
not :  but  to  me  he  has  been  purity  and  nobleness 
itself  —  a  brother,  a  father.  Yes ;  if  I  had  no 
other  reason  for  trusting  him,  I  should  love  him 
for  that  alone;  that  however  tempted  he  may 
have  been,  and  Heaven  knows  he  was  tempted,  he 
could  respect  the  honor  of  his  friend,  though  that 
friend  lay  sleeping  in  a  soldier's  grave  ten  thousand 
miles  away." 

And  Marie  threw  herself  upon  Sabina's  neck, 
and  under  the  pressure  of  her  misery  sobbed  out 
to  her  the  story  of  her  life.  What  it  was  need 
not  be  told.  A  little  common  sense,  and  a  little 
knowledge  of  human  nature,  will  enable  the  reader 
to  fill  up  for  himself  the  story  of  a  beautiful  slave. 

Sabina  soothed  her,  and  cheered  her;  and 
soothed  and  cheered  her  most  of  all  by  telling 
her  in  return  the  story  of  her  own  life ;  not  so 
dark  a  one,  but  almost  as  sad  and  strange.  And 


240  Two  Years  Ago 

poor  Marie  took  heart,  when  she  found  in  her 
great  need  a  sister  in  the  communion  of  sorrows. 

"  And  you  have  been  through  all  this,  so  beau- 
tiful and  bright  as  you  are !  You  whom  I  should 
have  fancied  always  living  the  life  of  the  humming- 
bird: and  yet  not  a  scar  or  a  wrinkle  has  it  left 
behind ! " 

"  They  were  there  once,  Marie ;  but  God  and 
Claude  smoothed  them  away." 

"  I  have  no  Claude,  —  and  no  God,  I  think,  at 
times." 

"No  God,  Marie?  Then  how  did  you  come 
hither?" 

Marie  was  silent,  reproved;  and  then  passion- 
ately : 

"  Why  does  He  not  right  my  people?  " 

That  question  was  one  to  which  Sabina's  little 
scheme  of  the  universe  had  no  answer ;  why  should 
it,  while  many  a  scheme  which  pretends  to  be  far 
vaster  and  more  infallible  has  none  as  yet? 

So  she  was  silent,  and  sat  with  Marie's  head  upon 
her  bosom,  caressing  the  black  curls,  till  she  had 
soothed  her  into  sobbing  exhaustion. 

"There;  lie  there  and  rest:  you  shall  be  my 
child,  my  poor  Marie.  I  have  a  fresh  child  every 
week  ;  but  I  shall  find  plenty  of  room  in  my  heart 
for  you,  my  poor  hunted  deer." 

"You  will  keep  my  secret?  " 

"  Why  keep  it?  No  one  need  be  ashamed  of  it 
here  in  free  England." 

"But  he  —  he  —  you  do  not  know,  Sabina! 
Those  Northerners,  with  all  their  boasts  of  freedom, 
shrink  from  us  just  as  much  as  our  own  masters." 

"  Oh,  Marie,  do  not  be  so  unjust  to  him !  He 
is  too  noble,  and  you  must  know  it  yourself." 


"Am  I  Not  a  Woman  and  Sister?"    241 

"  Ay,  if  he  stood  alone ;  if  he  were  even  going  to 
live  in  England ;  if  he  would  let  himself  be  him- 
self; but  public  opinion,"  sobbed  the  poor  self- 
tormentor.  "  It  has  been  his  God,  Sabina,  to  be 
a  leader  of  taste  and  fashion  —  admired  and  com- 
plete—  the  Crichton  of  Newport  and  Brooklyn. 
And  he  could  not  bear  scorn,  the  loss  of  society. 
Why  should  he  bear  it  for  me?  If  he  had  been 
one  of  the  Abolitionist  party,  it  would  have  been 
different ;  but  he  has  no  sympathy  with  them,  good, 
narrow,  pious  people,  or  they  with  him :  he  could 
not  be  satisfied  in  their  society  —  or  I  either,  for  I 
crave  after  it  all  as  much  as  he  —  wealth,  luxury, 
art,  brilliant  company,  admiration  —  oh,  inconsis- 
tent wretch  that  I  am !  And  that  makes  me  love 
him  all  the  more,  and  yet  makes  me  so  harsh  to 
him,  wickedly  cruel,  as  I  was  to-day  ;  because  when 
I  am  reproving  his  weakness,  I  am  reproving  my 
own,  and  because  I  am  angry  with  myself,  I  grow 
angry  with  him  too —  envious  of  him,  I  do  believe 
at  moments,  and  all  his  success  and  luxury !  " 

And  so  poor  Marie  sobbed  out  her  confused 
confession  of  that  strange  double  nature  which  so 
many  quadroons  seem  to  owe  to  their  mixed 
blood  ;  a  strong  side  of  deep  feeling,  ambition, 
energy,  and  intellect  rather  Greek  in  its  rapidity 
than  English  in  sturdiness ;  and  withal  a  weak  side, 
of  instability,  inconsistency,  hasty  passion,  love  of 
present  enjoyment,  sometimes,  too,  a  tendency  to 
untruth,  which  is  the  mark,  not  perhaps  of  the 
African  specially,  but  of  every  enslaved  race. 

Consolation  was  all  that  Sabina  could  give.  It 
was  too  late  to  act.  Stangrave  was  gone,  and 
week  after  week  rolled  by  without  a  line  from  the 
wanderer. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  RECOGNITION 

ELSLEY  VAVASOUR  is  sitting  one  morning 
in  his  study,  every  comfort  of  which  is  of 
Lucia's  arrangement  and  invention,  beating  the 
home-preserve  of  his  brains  for  pretty  thoughts. 
On  he  struggles  through  that  wild  and  too  luxuri- 
ant cover ;  now  brought  up  by  a  "  lawyer,"  now 
stumbling  over  a  root,  now  bogged  in  a  green 
spring,  now  flushing  a  stray  covey  of  birds  of 
Paradise,  now  a  sphinx,  chimera,  strix,  lamia,  fire- 
drake,  flying-donkey,  two-headed  eagle  (Austrian, 
as  will  appear  shortly),  or  other  portent  only  to 
be  seen  nowadays  in  the  recesses  of  that  enchanted 
forest,  the  convolutions  of  a  poet's  brain.  Up  they 
whir  and  rattle,  making,  like  most  game,  more 
noise  than  they  are  worth.  Some  get  back,  some 
dodge  among  the  trees ;  the  fair  shots  are  few  and 
far  between :  but  Elsley  blazes  away  right  and  left 
with  trusty  quill ;  and,  to  do  him  justice,  seldom 
misses  his  aim,  for  practice  has  made  him  a  sure 
and  quick  marksman  in  his  own  line.  Moreover, 
all  is  game  which  gets  up  to-day ;  for  he  is  shoot- 
ing for  the  kitchen,  or  rather  for  the  London 
market,  as  many  a  noble  sportsman  does  nowadays, 
and  thinks  no  shame.  His  new  volume  of  poems 
("  The  Wreck  "  included)  is  in  the  press ;  but  be- 
hold, it  is  not  as  long  as  the  publisher  thinks  fit, 


The  Recognition  243 

and  Messrs.  Brown  and  Younger  have  written  down 
to  entreat  in  haste  for  some  four  hundred  lines 
more,  on  any  subject  which  Mr.  Vavasour  may 
choose.  And  therefore  is  Elsley  beating  his  home 
covers,  heavily  shot  over  though  they  have  been 
already  this  season,  in  hopes  that  a  few  head  of  his 
own  game  may  still  be  left:  or  in  default  (for 
human  nature  is  the  same,  in  poets  and  in  sports- 
men), that  a  few  head  may  have  strayed  in  out 
of  his  neighbors'  manors. 

At  last  the  sport  slackens ;  for  the  sportsman  is 
getting  tired,  and  hungry  also,  to  carry  on  the 
metaphor ;  for  he  has  seen  the  postman  come  up 
the  front  walk  a  quarter  of  an  hour  since,  and  the 
letters  have  not  been  brought  in  yet. 

At  last  there  is  a  knock  at  the  door,  which  he 
answers  by  a  somewhat  testy  "  come  in."  But  he 
checks  the  coming  grumble,  when  not  the  maid, 
but  Lucia  enters. 

Why  not  grumble  at  Lucia?  He  has  done  so 
many  a  time. 

Because  she  looks  this  morning  so  charming; 
really  quite  pretty  again,  so  radiant  is  her  face  with 
smiles.  And  because,  also,  she  holds  triumphant 
above  her  head  a  newspaper. 

She  dances  up  to  him : 

"  I  have  something  for  you." 

"  For  me  ?  Why,  the  post  has  been  in  this  half- 
hour." 

"  Yes,  for  you,  and  that 's  just  the  reason  why 
I  kept  it  myself.  D'ye  understand  my  Irish 
reasoning?" 

"  No,  you  pretty  creature,"  said  Elsley,  who  saw 
that  whatever  the  news  was,  it  was  good  news. 

"-P/ettv  creature,  am  I?     I  was  once,  I  know; 


244  Two  Years  Ago 

but  I  thought  you  had  forgotten  all  about  that 
But  I  was  not  going  to  let  you  have  the  paper  till 
I  had  devoured  every  word  of  it  myself  first." 

"  Every  word  of  what !  " 

"  Of  what  you  sha'n't  have  unless  you  promise 
to  be  good  for  a  week.  Such  a  review ;  and  from 
America!  What  a  dear  man  he  must  be  who 
wrote  it !  I  really  think  I  should  kiss  him  if  I  met 
him." 

"  And  I  really  think  he  would  not  say  no.  But 
as  he 's  not  here,  I  shall  act  as  his  proxy." 

"Be  quiet,  and  read  that,  if  you  can,  for 
blushes ;  "  and  she  spread  out  the  paper  before 
him,  and  then  covered  his  eyes  with  her  hands. 
"  No,  you  sha'n't  see  it ;  it  will  make  you  vain." 

Elsley  had  looked  eagerly  at  the  honeyed  col- 
umns (as  who  would  not  have  done  ?),  but  the  last 
word  smote  him.  What  was  he  thinking  of  ?  his 
own  praise,  or  his  wife's  love  ? 

"  Too  true,"  he  cried,  looking  up  at  her.  "  You 
dear  creature !  Vain  I  am,  God  forgive  me ;  but 
before  I  look  at  a  word  of  this  I  must  have  a  talk 
with  you." 

"  I  can't  stop ;  I  must  run  back  to  the  children. 
No  ;  now  don't  look  cross,"  as  his  brow  clouded, 
"  I  only  said  that  to  tease  you.  I  '11  stop  with 
you  ten  whole  minutes,  if  you  won't  look  so  very 
solemn  and  important.  I  hate  tragedy  faces. 
Now,  what  is  it?" 

All  this  was  spoken  while  both  her  hands  were 
clasped  round  Elsley's  neck,  and  with  looks  and 
tones  of  the  very  sweetest  as  well  as  the  very 
sauciest.  No  offence  was  given,  and  none  taken : 
but  Elsley's  voice  was  ;ad  as  he  asked : 

"  So  you  really  do  care  for  my  poems  ?  " 


The  Recognition  245 

"  You  great  silly  creature !  Why  else  did  I 
marry  you  at  all  ?  As  if  I  cared  for  anything  in 
the  world  but  your  poems;  as  if  I  did  not  love 
everybody  who  praises  them ;  and  if  any  stupid 
reviewer  dares  to  say  a  word  against  them  I 
could  kill  him  on  the  spot.  I  care  for  nothing 
in  the  world  but  what  people  say  of  you.  And 
yet  I  don't  care  one  pin;  I  know  what  your 
poems  are,  if  nobody  else  does;  and  they  be- 
long to  me,  because  you  belong  to  me,  and  I 
must  be  the  best  judge,  and  care  for  nobody,  no, 
not  I !  "  And  she  began  singing,  and  then  hung 
over  him,  tormenting  him  lovingly  while  he  read. 

It  was  a  true  American  review,  utterly  extrava- 
gant in  its  laudations,  whether  from  over-kindness, 
or  from  a  certain  love  of  exaggeration  and  mag- 
niloquence, which  makes  one  suspect  that  a  large 
proportion  of  the  Transatlantic  gentlemen  of  the 
press  must  be  natives  of  the  sister  isle ;  but  it  was 
all  the  more  pleasant  to  the  soul  of  Elsley. 

"  There,"  said  Lucia,  as  she  clung  croodling  to 
him,  "  there  is  a  pretty  character  of  you,  sir ! 
Make  the  most  of  it,  for  it  is  all  those  Yankees 
will  ever  send  you." 

"  Yes,"  said  Elsley,  "  if  they  would  send  one  a 
little  money,  instead  of  making  endless  dollars  by 
printing  one's  books,  and  then  a  few  more  by  prais- 
ing one  at  a  penny  a  line." 

"  That 's  talking  like  a  man  of  business :  if, 
instead  of  the  review,  now,  a  cheque  for  fifty  pounds 
had  come,  how  I  would  have  rushed  out  and  paid 
the  bills ! " 

"And  liked  it  a  great  deal  better  than  the 
review?" 

"  You  jealous  creature  !     No.     If  I  could  always 


246  Two  Years  Ago 

have  you  praised,  I  'd  live  in  a  cabin,  and  go  about 
the  world  barefoot,  like  a  wild  Irish  girl." 

"  You  would  make  a  very  charming  one." 

"  I  used  to,  once,  I  can  tell  you.  Valentia  and 
I  used  to  run  about  without  shoes  and  stockings 
at  Kilanbaggan,  and  you  can't  think  how  pretty 
and  white  this  little  foot  used  to  look  on  a  nice 
soft  carpet  of  green  moss." 

"  I  shall  write  a  sonnet  to  it." 

"  You  may  if  you  choose,  provided  you  don't 
publish  it." 

"  You  may  trust  me  for  that.  I  am  not  one  of 
those  who  anatomize  their  own  married  happiness 
for  the  edification  of  the  whole  public,  and  make 
fame,  if  not  money,  out  of  their  own  wives'  hearts." 

"  How  I  should  hate  you,  if  you  did  !  Not  that 
I  believe  their  fine  stories  about  themselves.  At 
least,  I  am  certain  it 's  only  half  the  story.  They 
have  their  quarrels,  my  dear,  just  as  you  and  I 
have:  but  they  take  care  not  to  put  them  into 
poetry." 

"Well,  but  who  could?  Whether  they  have  a 
right  or  not  to  publish  the  poetical  side  of  their 
married  life,  it  is  too  much  to  ask  them  to  give 
you  the  unpoetical  also." 

"Then  they  are  all  humbugs;  and  I  believe,  if 
they  really  love  their  wives  so  very  much,  they 
would  not  be  at  all  that  pains  to  persuade  the 
world  of  it." 

"  You  are  very  satirical  and  spiteful,  ma'am." 

"  I  always  am  when  I  am  pleased.  If  I  am  par- 
ticularly happy,  I  always  long  to  pinch  somebody. 
I  suppose  it's  Irish  — 

•"Comes  out,  meets  a  friend,  and  for  love  knocks  him 
down.' » 


The  Recognition  247 

"  But  you  know,  you  rogue,  that  you  care  to 
read  no  poetry  but  love  poetry." 

"  Of  course  not ;  every  woman  does ;  but  let  me 
find  you  publishing  any  such  about  me,  and  see 
what  I  will  do  to  you  !  There,  now  I  must  go  to 
my  work,  and  you  go  and  write  something  extra- 
superfinely  grand,  because  I  have  been  so  good 
to  you.  No.  Let  me  go ;  what  a  bother  you  are. 
Good-bye." 

And  away  she  tripped,  and  he  returned  to  his 
work,  happier  than  he  had  been  for  a  week  past. 

His  happiness,  truly,  was  only  on  the  surface. 
The  old  wound  had  been  salved  —  as  what  wound 
cannot  be  ?  —  by  woman's  love  and  woman's  wit : 
but  it  was  not  healed.  The  cause  of  his  wrong- 
doing, the  vain,  self-indulgent  spirit,  was  there  still 
unchastened ;  and  he  was  destined,  that  very  day, 
to  find  that  he  had  still  to  bear  the  punishment 
of  it 

Now  the  reader  must  understand,  that  though 
one  may  laugh  at  Elsley  Vavasour,  because  it  is 
more  pleasant  than  scolding  at  him,  yet  have 
Philistia  and  Fogeydom  neither  right  nor  reason 
to  consider  him  a  despicable  or  merely  ludicrous 
person,  or  to  cry,  "  Ah,  if  he  had  been  as  we 
are !  " 

Had  he  been  merely  ludicrous,  Lucia  would 
never  have  married  him ;  and  he  could  only  have 
been  spoken  of  with  indignation,  or  left  utterly  out 
of  the  story,  as  a  simply  unpleasant  figure,  beyond 
the  purposes  of  a  novel,  though  admissible  now 
and  then  into  tragedy.  One  cannot  heartily  laugh 
at  a  man  if  one  has  not  a  lurking  love  for  him,  as 
one  really  ought  to  have  for  Elsley.  How  much 
value  is  to  be  attached  to  his  mere  power  of  im- 


248  Two  Years  Ago 

agination  and  fancy,  and  so  forth,  is  a  question; 
but  there  was  in  him  more  than  mere  talent: 
there  was,  in  thought  at  least,  virtue  and  mag- 
nanimity. 

True,  the  best  part  of  him,  perhaps  almost  all  the 
good  part  of  him,  spent  itself  in  words,  and  must  be 
looked  for,  not  in  his  life,  but  in  his  books.  But 
in  those  books  it  can  be  found ;  and  if  you  look 
through  them,  you  will  see  that  he  has  not  touched 
upon  a  subject  without  taking,  on  the  whole,  the 
right,  and  pure,  and  lofty  view  of  it.  Howsoever 
extravagant  he  may  be  in  his  notions  of  poetic 
license,  that  license  is  never  with  him  a  synonym 
for  licentiousness.  Whatever  is  tender  and  true, 
whatever  is  chivalrous  and  high-minded,  he  loves 
at  first  sight,  and  reproduces  it  lovingly.  And  it 
may  be  possible  that  his  own  estimate  of  his  poems 
was  not  altogether  wrong;  that  his  words  may 
have  awakened  here  and  there  in  others  a  love  for 
that  which  is  morally  as  well  as  physically  beauti- 
ful, and  may  have  kept  alive  in  their  hearts  the 
recollection  that,  both  for  the  bodies  and  the  souls 
of  men  forms  of  life  far  nobler  and  fairer  than 
those  which  we  see  now  are  possible;  that  they 
have  appeared,  in  fragments  at  least,  already  on 
the  earth ;  that  they  are  destined,  perhaps,  to  re- 
appear and  combine  themselves  in  some  ideal 
state,  and  in 

"  One  far-off  divine  event, 
Toward  which  the  whole  creation  moves." 

This  is  the  special  and  proper  function  of  the 
poet;  that  he  may  do  this,  does  God  touch  his 
lips  with  that  which,  however  it  may  be  misused, 
is  still  fire  from  off  the  altar  beneath  which  the 


The  Recognition  249 

spirits  of  his  saints  cry,  "  Lord,  how  long?  "  If  he 
"  reproduce  the  beautiful "  with  this  intent,  how- 
ever so  little,  then  is  he  of  the  sacred  guild.  And 
because  Vavasour  had  this  gift,  therefore  he  was  a 
poet. 

But  in  this  he  was  weak :  that  he  did  not  feel, 
or  at  least  was  forgetting  fast,  that  this  gift  had 
been  bestowed  on  him  for  any  practical  purpose. 
No  one  would  demand  that  he  should  have  gone 
forth  with  some  grand  social  scheme,  to  reform  a 
world  which  looked  to  him  so  mean  and  evil.  He 
was  not  a  man  of  business,  and  was  not  meant  to 
be  one.  But  it  was  ill  for  him  that  in  his  fastidi- 
ousness and  touchiness  he  had  shut  himself  out 
from  that  world,  till  he  had  quite  forgotten  how 
much  good  there  was  in  it  as  well  as  evil ;  how 
many  people  —  commonplace  and  unpoetical  it 
may  be,  but  still  heroical  in  God's  sight  —  were 
working  harder  than  he  ever  worked,  at  the  divine 
drudgery  of  doing  good,  and  that  in  dens  of  dark- 
ness and  sloughs  of  filth  from  which  he  would  have 
turned  with  disgust;  so  that  the  sympathy  with 
the  sinful  and  fallen  which  marks  his  earlier  poems, 
and  which  perhaps  verges  on  sentimentalism,  grad- 
ually gives  place  to  a  Pharisaic  and  contemptuous 
tone;  a  tone  more  lofty  and  manful  in  seeming, 
but  far  less  divine  in  fact.  Perhaps  comparative 
success  had  injured  him.  Whilst  struggling  him- 
self against  circumstances,  poor,  untaught,  un- 
happy, he  had  more  fellow-feeling  with  those 
whom  circumstances  oppressed.  At  least,  the 
pity  which  he  could  once  bestow  upon  the  misery 
which  he  met  in  his  daily  walks,  he  now  kept  for 
the  more  picturesque  woes  of  Italy  and  Greece. 

In  this,  too,  he  was  weak;    that  he  had  alto- 


250  Two  Years  Ago 

gether  forgotten  that  the  fire  from  off  the  altar 
could  only  be  kept  alight  by  continual  self- 
restraint  and  self-sacrifice,  by  continual  gentle- 
ness and  humility,  shown  in  the  petty  matters  of 
every-day  home-life ;  and  that  he  who  cannot  rule 
his  own  household  can  never  rule  the  Church  of 
God.  And  so  it  befell,  that  amid  the  little  cross- 
blasts  of  home  squabbles  the  sacred  spark  was  fast 
going  out.  The  poems  written  after  he  settled  at 
Penalva  are  marked  by  a  less  definite  purpose,  by 
a  lower  tone  of  feeling :  not,  perhaps,  by  a  lower 
moral  tone ;  but  simply  by  less  of  any  moral  tone 
at  all.  They  are  more  and  more  full  of  merely 
sensuous  beauty,  mere  word-painting,  mere  word- 
hunting.  The  desire  of  finding  something  worth 
saying  gives  place  more  and  more  to  that  of  saying 
something  in  a  new  fashion.  As  the  originality  of 
thought  (which  accompanies  only  vigorous  moral 
purpose)  decreases,  the  attempt  at  originality  of 
language  increases.  Manner,  in  short,  has  taken 
the  place  of  matter.  The  art,  it  may  be,  of  his 
latest  poems  is  greatest :  but  it  has  been  expended 
on  the  most  unworthy  themes.  The  later  are 
mannered  caricatures  of  the  earlier,  without  their 
soul ;  and  the  same  change  seems  to  have  passed 
over  him  which  (with  Mr.  Ruskin's  pardon)  trans- 
formed the  Turner  of  1820  into  the  Turner  of  1850. 
Thus  had  Elsley  transferred  what  sympathy  he 
had  left  from  needle-women  and  ragged  schools, 
dwellers  in  Jacob  s  Island  and  sleepers  in  the  dry 
arches  of  Waterloo  Bridge,  to  sufferers  of  a  more 
poetic  class.  Whether  his  sympathies  showed 
thereby  that  he  had  risen  or  fallen,  let  my  readers 
decide  each  for  himself.  It  is  a  credit  to  any  man 
to  feel  for  any  human  being ;  and  Italy,  as  she  is 


The  Recognition  251 

at  this  moment,  is  certainly  one  of  the  most  tragic 
spectacles  which  the  world  has  ever  seen.  Elsley 
need  not  be  blamed  for  pitying  her;  only  for  hold- 
ing, with  most  of  our  poets,  a  vague  notion  that 
her  woes  were  to  be  cured  by  a  hair  of  the  dog 
that  bit  her;  viz.  by  homoeopathic  doses  of  that 
same  "  art "  which  had  been  all  along  her  morbid 
and  self-deceiving  substitute  for  virtue  and  indus- 
try. So,  as  she  had  sung  herself  down  to  the 
nether  pit,  Elsley  would  help  to  sing  her  up  again ; 
and  had  already  been  throwing  off,  ever  since  1848, 
a  series  of  sonnets  which  he  entitled  Eurydice, 
intimating,  of  course,  that  he  acted  as  the  Orpheus. 
Whether  he  had  hopes  of  drawing  iron  tears  down 
Pluto  Radetzky's  cheek,  does  not  appear ;  but  cer- 
tainly the  longer  poem  which  had  sprung  from  his 
fancy,  at  the  urgent  call  of  Messrs.  Brown  and 
Younger,  would  have  been  likely  to  draw  nothing 
but  iron  balls  from  Radetzky's  cannon ;  or  failing 
so  vast  an  effect,  an  immediate  external  application 
to  the  poet  himself  of  that  famous  herb  Pantagru- 
elian,  cure  for  all  public  ills  and  private  woes,  which 
men  call  hemp.  Nevertheless,  it  was  a  noble  sub- 
ject; one  which  ought  surely  to  have  been  taken 
up  by  some  of  our  poets,  for  if  they  do  not  make 
a  noble  poem  of  it,  it  will  be  their  own  fault.  I 
mean  that  sad  and  fantastic  tragedy  of  Fra  Dolcino 
and  Margaret,  which  Signer  Mariotti  has  lately 
given  to  the  English  public,  in  a  book  which,  both 
for  its  matter  and  its  manner,  should  be  better 
known  than  it  is.  Elsley's  soul  had  been  filled  (it 
would  have  been  a  dull  one  else)  with  the  concep- 
tion of  the  handsome  and  gifted  patriot-monk,  his 
soul  delirious  with  the  dream  of  realizing  a  perfect 
Church  on  earth;  battling  with  tongue  and  pen, 


252  Two  Years  Ago 

and  at  last  with  sword,  against  the  villainies  of  pope 
and  kaiser,  and  all  the  old  devourers  of  the  earth, 
cheered  only  by  the  wild  love  of  her  who  had 
given  up  wealth,  fame,  friends,  all  which  render 
life  worth  having,  to  die  with  him  a  death  too 
horrible  for  words.  And  he  had  conceived  (and 
not  altogether  ill)  a  vision  in  which,  wandering 
along  some  bright  Italian  bay,  he  met  Dolcino  sit- 
ting, a  spirit  at  rest  but  not  yet  glorified,  waiting 
for  the  revival  of  that  dead  land  for  which  he  had 
died  ;  and  Margaret  by  him,  dipping  her  scorched 
feet  for  ever  in  the  cooling  wave,  and  looking  up  to 
the  hero  for  whom  she  had  given  up  all,  with  eyes 
of  everlasting  love.  There  they  were  to  prophesy 
to  him  such  things  as  seemed  fit  to  him,  of  the 
future  of  Italy  and  of  Europe,  of  the  doom  of 
priests  and  tyrants,  of  the  sorrows  and  rewards  of 
genius  unappreciated  and  before  its  age ;  for 
Elsley's  secret  vanity  could  see  in  himself  a  far 
greater  likeness  to  Dolcino  than  Dolcino  —  the 
preacher,  confessor,  bender  of  all  hearts,  man  of 
the  world  and  man  of  action,  at  last  crafty  and  all 
but  unconquerable  guerilla  warrior  —  would  ever 
have  acknowledged  in  the  self-indulgent  dreamer. 
However,  it  was  a  fair  conception  enough ;  though 
perhaps  it  never  would  have  entered  Elsley's  head, 
had  Shelley  never  written  the  opening  canto  of  the 
"  Revolt  of  Islam." 

So  Elsley,  on  a  burning  July  forenoon,  strolled 
up  the  lane  and  over  the  down  to  King  Arthur's 
Nose,  that  he  might  find  materials  for  his  seashore 
scene.  For  he  was  not  one  of  those  men  who  live 
in  such  quiet,  every-day  communication  with  nature, 
that  they  drink  in  her  various  aspects  as  uncon- 
sciously as  the  air  they  breathe ;  and  so  can  repro- 


The  Recognition  253 

duce  them,  out  of  an  inexhaustible  stock  of  details, 
simply  and  accurately,  and  yet  freshly  too,  tinged 
by  the  peculiar  hue  of  the  mind  in  which  they 
have  been  long  sleeping.  He  walked  the  world, 
either  blind  to  the  beauty  round  him,  and  trying 
to  compose  instead  some  little  scrap  of  beauty  in 
his  own  self-imprisoned  thoughts ;  or  else  he  was 
looking  out  consciously  and  spasmodically  for 
views,  effects,  emotions,  images ;  something  strik- 
ing and  uncommon  which  would  suggest  a  poetic 
figure,  or  help  out  a  description,  or  in  some  way 
re-furnish  his  mind  with  thought.  From  which 
method  it  befell,  that  his  lamp  of  truth  was  too 
often  burnt  out  just  when  it  was  needed :  and  that, 
like  the  foolish  virgins,  he  had  to  go  and  buy  oil 
when  it  was  too  late ;  or  failing  that,  to  supply  its 
place  with  some  baser  artificial  material. 

That  day,  however,  he  was  fortunate  enough ; 
for  wandering  and  scrambling  among  the  rocks,  at 
a  dead  low  spring-tide,  he  came  upon  a  spot  which 
would  have  made  a  poem  of  itself  better  than  all 
Elsley  ever  wrote,  had  he,  forgetting  all  about 
Fra  Dolcino,  Italy,  priests,  and  tyrants,  set  down 
in  black  and  white  just  what  he  saw;  provided, 
of  course,  that  he  had  patience  first  to  see  the 
same. 

It  was  none  other  than  that  ghastly  chasm  across 
which  Thurnall  had  been  so  miraculously  swept  on 
the  night  of  his  shipwreck.  The  same  ghastly 
chasm  ;  but  ghastly  now  no  longer ;  and  as  Elsley 
looked  down,  the  beauty  below  invited  him,  and  the 
coolness  also;  for  the  sun  beat  on  the  flat  rock 
above  till  it  scorched  the  feet,  and  dazzled  the  eye, 
and  crisped  up  the  blackening  sea-weeds;  while 
every  sea-snail  crept  to  hide  itself  under  the  blad- 


254  Two  Years  Ago 

der-tangle,  and  nothing  dared  to  peep  or  stir  save 
certain  grains  of  gunpowder,  which  seemed  to  have 
gone  mad,  so  merrily  did  they  hop  about  upon  the 
surface  of  the  fast  evaporating  salt-pools.  That 
wonder,  indeed,  Elsley  stooped  to  examine,  and 
drew  back  his  hands  with  an  "  Ugh  ! "  and  a  ges- 
ture of  disgust,  when  he  found  that  they  were 
"nasty  little  insects."  For  Elsley  held  fully  the 
poet's  right  to  believe  that  all  things  are  not  very 
good ;  none,  indeed,  save  such  as  suited  his  eclectic 
and  fastidious  taste ;  and  to  hold  (on  high  aesthetic 
grounds,  of  course)  toads  and  spiders  in  as  much 
abhorrence  as  does  any  boarding-school  girl. 
However,  rinding  some  rock  ledges  which  formed 
a  natural  ladder,  down  he  scrambled,  gingerly 
enough,  for  he  was  neither  an  active  nor  a  coura- 
geous man.  But,  once  down,  I  will  do  him  the  jus- 
tice to  say,  that  for  five  whole  minutes  he  forgot 
all  about  Fra  Dolcino,  and,  what  was  better,  about 
himself  also. 

The  chasm  may  have  been  fifteen  feet  deep,  and 
above,  about  half  that  breadth;  but  below,  the 
waves  had  hollowed  it  into  dark  overhanging  cav- 
erns. Just  in  front  of  him  a  huge  boulder  spanned 
the  crack,  and  formed  a  natural  doorway,  through 
which  he  saw,  like  a  picture  set  in  a  frame,  the  far- 
off  blue  sea  softening  into  the  blue  sky  among 
brown  eastern  haze.  Amid  the  haze  a  single  ship 
hung  motionless,  like  a  white  cloud.  Nearer,  a 
black  cormorant  floated  sleepily  along,  and  dived, 
and  rose  again.  Nearer  again,  long  lines  of  flat 
tide-rock,  glittering  and  quivering  in  the  heat, 
sloped  gradually  under  the  waves,  till  they  ended 
in  half-sunken  beds  of  olive  oar-weed,  which  beiit 
their  tangled  stems  into  a  hundred  graceful  curves, 


The  Recognition  255 

and  swayed  to  and  fro  slowly  and  sleepily.  The  low 
swell  slid  whispering  among  their  floating  palms, 
and  slipped  on  toward  the  cavern's  mouth,  as  if  ask- 
ing wistfully  (so  Elsley  fancied)  when  it  would  be 
time  for  it  to  return  to  that  cool  shade,  and  hide 
from  all  the  blinding  blaze  outside.  But  when  his 
eye  was  enough  accustomed  to  the  shade  within,  it 
withdrew  gladly  from  the  glaring  sea  and  glaring 
tide-rocks  to  the  walls  of  the  chasm  itself;  to 
curved  and  polished  sheets  of  stone,  rich  brown, 
with  snow-white  veins,  on  which  danced  for  ever  a 
dappled  network  of  pale  yellow  light ;  to  crusted 
beds  of  pink  coralline ;  to  caverns  in  the  dark 
crannies  of  which  hung  branching  sponges  and 
tufts  of  purple  sea-moss ;  to  strips  of  clear  white 
sand,  bestrewn  with  shells;  to  pools,  each  a  gay 
flower-garden  of  all  hues,  where  branching  sea- 
weed reflected  blue  light  from  every  point,  like  a 
thousand  damasked  sword-blades ;  while  among 
them  dahlias  and  chrysanthemums,  and  many 
another  mimic  of  our  earth-born  flowers,  spread 
blooms  of  crimson,  and  purple,  and  lilac,  and 
creamy  gray,  half-buried  among  feathered  weeds 
as  brightly  colored  as  they;  and  strange  and 
gaudy  fishes  shot  across  from  side  to  side, 
and  chased  each  other  in  and  out  of  hidden 
cells. 

Within  and  without  all  was  at  rest;  the  silence 
was  broken  only  by  the  timid  whisper  of  the  swell, 
and  by  the  chime  of  dropping  water  within  some 
unseen  cave ;  but  what  a  different  rest !  Without, 
all  lying  breathless,  stupefied,  sun-stricken,  in 
blinding  glare ;  within,  all  coolness  and  refreshing 
sleep.  Without,  all  simple,  broad,  and  vast ;  with- 
in, all  various,  with  infinite  richness  of  form  and 


256  Two  Years  Ago 

color.     An  Haroun  Alraschid's  bower  looking  out 

upon  the 

Bother  the  fellow !  Why  will  he  go  on  analyz- 
ing and  figuring  in  this  way?  Why  not  let  the 
blessed  place  tell  him  what  it  means,  instead  of 
telling  it  what  he  thinks?  And — why,  he  is 
actually  writing  verses,  though  not  about  Fra 
Dolcino ! 

**  How  rests  yon  rock,  whose  half-day's  bath  is  done, 
With  broad  bright  side,  beneath  the  broad  bright  sun, 

Like  sea-nymph  tired,  on  cushioned  mosses  sleeping. 
Yet,  nearer  drawn,  beneath  her  purple  tresses, 

From  down-bent  brows  we  find  her  slowly  weeping. 
So  many  a  heart  for  cruel  man's  caresses 

Must  only  pine  and  pine,  and  yet  must  bear 

A  gallant  front  beneath  life's  gaudy  glare." 

Silly  fellow !  Do  you  think  that  Nature  had 
time  to  think  of  such  a  far-fetched  conceit  as  that 
while  it  was  making  that  rock  and  peopling  it  with 
a  million  tiny  living  things,  of  which  not  one  falleth 
to  the  ground  without  your  Father's  knowledge, 
and  each  more  beautiful  than  any  sea-nymph  whom 
you  ever  fancied  ?  For,  after  all,  you  cannot  fancy 
a  whole  sea-nymph  (perhaps  in  that  case  you 
could  make  one),  but  only  a  very  little  scrap  of 
her  outside.  Or  if,  as  you  boast,  you  are  inspired 
by  the  Creative  Spirit,  tell  us  what  the  Creative 
Spirit  says  about  that  rock,  and  not  such  verse  as 
that,  the  lesson  of  which  you  don't  yourself  really 
feel.  Pretty  enough  it  is,  perhaps;  but  in  your 
haste  to  say  a  pretty  thing,  just  because  it  was 
pretty,  you  have  not  cared  to  condemn  yourself 
out  of  your  own  mouth.  Why  were  you  sulky,  sir, 
with  Mrs.  Vavasour  this  very  morning,  after  all  that 
passed,  because  she  would  look  over  the  washing- 


The  Recognition  257 

books,  while  you  wanted  her  to  hear  about  Fra 
Dolcino?  And  why,  though  she  was  up  to  her 
knees  among  your  dirty  shirts  when  you  went  out, 
did  you  not  give  her  one  parting  kiss,  which  would 
have  transfigured  her  virtuous  drudgery  for  her 
into  a  sacred  pleasure?  One  is  heartily  glad  to 
see  you  disturbed,  cross  though  you  may  look  at 
it,  by  that  sturdy  step  and  jolly  whistle  which  burst 
in  on  you  from  the  other  end  of  the  chasm,  as 
Tom  Thurnall,  with  an  old  smock  frock  over  his 
coat  and  a  large  basket  on  his  arm,  comes  stum- 
bling and  hopping  towards  you,  dropping  every 
now  and  then  on  hands  and  knees,  and  turning 
over  on  his  back,  to  squeeze  his  head  into  some 
muddy  crack,  and  then  withdraw  it  with  the  salt 
water  dripping  down  his  nose. 

Elsley  closed  his  eyes,  and  rested  his  head  on 
his  hand  in  a  somewhat  studied  "  pose."  But  as  he 
wished  not  to  be  interrupted,  it  may  not  have  been 
altogether  unpardonable  to  pretend  sleep.  How- 
ever, the  sleeping  posture  had  exactly  the  opposite 
effect  to  that  which  he  designed. 

"  Ah,  Mr.  Vavasour !  " 

"  Humph  !  "  quoth  he,  slowly,  if  not  sulkily. 

"  I  admire  your  taste,  sir ;  a  charming  summer- 
house  old  Triton  has  vacated  for  your  use ;  but  let 
me  advise  you  not  to  go  to  sleep  in  it." 

"Why  then,  sir?" 

"  Because  —  it's  no  business  of  mine,  of  course; 
but  the  tide  has  turned  already;  and  if  a  breeze 
springs  up,  old  Triton  will  be  back  again  in  a 
hurry,  and  in  a  rage  also ;  and  —  I  may  possibly 
lose  a  good  patient." 

Elsley,  who  knew  nothing  about  the  tides,  save 
that  "  the  moon  wooed  the  ocean,"  or  some  such 


258  Two  Years  Ago 

important  fact,  thanked  him  coolly  enough,  and 
returned  to  a  meditative  attitude.  Tom  saw  that 
he  was  in  the  seventh  heaven,  and  went  on ;  but 
he  had  not  gone  three  steps  before  he  pulled  up 
short,  slapping  his  hands  together  once,  as  a  man 
does  who  has  found  what  he  wants;  and  then 
plunged  up  to  his  knees  in  a  rock  pool,  and  then 
began  working  very  gently  at  something  under 
water. 

Elsley  watched  him  for  full  five  minutes  with  so 
much  curiosity  that,  despite  of  himself,  he  asked 
him  what  he  was  doing. 

Tom  had  his  whole  face  under  water,  and  did 
not  hear  till  Elsley  had  repeated  the  question. 

"  Only  a  rare  zoophyte,"  said  he  at  last,  lifting 
his  dripping  visage  and  gasping  for  breath;  and 
then  he  dived  again. 

"  Inexplicable  pedantry  of  science !  "  thought 
Elsley  to  himself,  while  Tom  worked  on  stead- 
fastly, and  at  last  rose,  and  taking  out  a  phial  from 
his  basket,  was  about  to  deposit  in  it  something 
invisible. 

"Stay  a  moment;  you  really  have  roused  my 
curiosity  by  your  earnestness.  May  I  see  what 
it  is  for  which  you  have  taken  so  much  trouble  ?  " 

Tom  held  out  on  his  finger  a  piece  of  slimy 
crust  the  size  of  a  halfpenny.  Elsley  could  only 
shrug  his  shoulders. 

"Nothing  to  you,  sir,  I  doubt  not;  but  worth  a 
guinea  to  me,  even  if  it  be  only  to  mount  bits  of 
it  as  microscopic  objects." 

"  So  you  mingle  business  with  science?"  said 
Elsley,  rather  in  a  contemptuous  tone. 

"Why  not?  I  must  live,  and  my  father  too; 
and  it  is  as  honest  a  way  of  making  money  as 


The  Recognition  259 

any  other;  I  poach  in  no  man's  manor  for  my 
game." 

"But  what  is  your  game?  What  possible  at- 
traction in  that  bit  of  dirt  can  make  men  spend 
their  money  on  it?" 

"  You  shall  see,"  said  Tom,  dropping  it  into  the 
phial  of  salt  water,  and  offering  it  to  Elsley,  with 
his  pocket  magnifier. 

"  Judge  for  yourself." 

Elsley  did  so,  and  beheld  a  new  wonder  —  a 
living  plant  of  crystal,  studded  with  crystal  bells, 
from  each  of  which  waved  a  crown  of  delicate 
arms.  It  was  the  first  time  that  Elsley  had  ever 
seen  one  of  those  exquisite  zoophytes  which  stud 
every  rock  and  every  tuft  of  weed. 

"  This  is  most  beautiful,"  said  he  at  length. 

"  Humph  !  why  should  not  Mr.  Vavasour  write 
a  poem  about  it?" 

"  Why  not,  indeed?"  thought  Elsley. 

"  It 's  no  business  of  mine,  no  man's  less :  but  I 
often  wonder  why  you  poets  don't  take  to  the 
microscope,  and  tell  us  a  little  more  about  the 
wonderful  things  which  are  here  already,  and  not 
about  those  which  are  not,  and  which,  perhaps, 
never  will  be." 

"  Well,"  said  Elsley,  after  another  look :  "  but, 
after  all,  these  things  have  no  human  interest  in 
them." 

"  I  don't  know  that ;  they  have  to  me,  for  in- 
stance. These  are  the  things  which  I  would  write 
about  if  I  had  any  turn  for  verse,  not  about  human 
nature,  of  which  I  know,  I  'm  afraid,  a  little  too 
much  already.  I  always  like  to  read  old  Darwin's 
'  Loves  of  the  Plants ; '  bosh  as  it  is  in  a  scientific 
point  of  view,  it  amuses  one's  fancy  without  mak- 

Vol.  10— L 


26 o  Two  Years  Ago 

ing  one  lose  one's  temper,  as  one  must  when  one 
begins  to  analyze  the  microscopic  ape  called  self 
and  friends." 

"  You  would  like,  then,  the  old  cosmogonies,  the 
Eddas  and  the  Vedas,"  said  Elsley,  getting  inter- 
ested, as  most  people  did  after  five  minutes'  talk 
with  the  cynical  doctor.  "  I  suppose  you  would 
not  say  much  for  their  science;  but,  as  poetry, 
they  are  just  what  you  ask  for  —  the  expression 
of  thoughtful  spirits,  who  looked  round  upon 
nature  with  awe-struck,  child-like  eyes,  and  asked 
of  all  heaven  and  earth  the  question,  '  What  are 
you?  How  came  you  to  be?'  Yet — it  maybe 
my  fault  —  while  I  admire  them,  I  cannot  sympa- 
thize with  them.  To  me,  this  zoophyte  is  as  a 
being  of  another  sphere  ;  and  till  I  can  create 
some  link  in  my  own  mind  between  it  and  human- 
ity it  is  as  nothing  in  my  eyes." 

"  There  is  link  enough,  sir,  don't  doubt,  and 
chains  of  iron  and  brass  too." 

"  You  believe,  then,  in  the  development  theory 
of  the  '  Vestiges '  ?  " 

"  Doctors  who  have  their  bread  to  earn  never 
commit  themselves  to  theories.  No ;  all  I  meant 
was,  that  this  little  zoophyte  lives  by  the  same 
laws  as  you  and  I ;  and  that  he  and  the  sea-weeds, 
and  so  forth,  teach  us  doctors  certain  little  rules 
concerning  life  and  death,  which  you  will  have 
a  chance  soon  of  seeing  at  work  on  the  most 
grand  and  poetical,  and  indeed  altogether  tragic 
scale." 

"  What  do  you  mean?  " 

"  When  the  cholera  comes  here,  as  it  will,  at  its 
present  pace,  before  the  end  of  the  summer,  then 
I  shall  have  the  zoophytes  rising  up  in  judgment 


The  Recognition  261 

against  me,  if  I  have  not  profited  by  a  leaf  out  of 
their  book." 

"  The  cholera?  "  said  Elsley,  in  a  startled  voice, 
forgetting  Tom's  parables  in  the  new  thought. 
For  Elsley  had  a  dread  more  nervous  than  really 
coward  of  infectious  diseases;  and  he  had  also 
(and  prided  himself,  too,  on  having)  all  Goethe's 
dislike  of  anything  terrible  or  horrible,  of  sick- 
ness, disease,  wounds,  death,  anything  which 
jarred  with  that  "  beautiful "  which  was  his  idol. 

"The  cholera?"  repeated  he.  "I  hope  not;  I 
wish  you  had  not  mentioned  it,  Mr.  Thurnall." 

"  I  am  very  sorry  that  I  did  so,  if  it  offends  you. 
I  had  thought  that  forewarned  was  forearmed. 
After  all,  it  is  no  business  of  mine ;  if  I  have  extra 
labor,  as  I  shall  have,  I  shall  have  extra  experi- 
ence ;  and  that  will  be  a  fair  set-off,  even  if  the 
board  of  guardians  don't  vote  me  an  extra  remu- 
neration, as  they  ought  to  do." 

Elsley  was  struck  dumb ;  first  by  the  certainty 
which  Tom's  words  expressed,  and  next  by  the 
coolness  of  their  temper.  At  last  he  stammered 
out,  "  Good  heavens,  Mr.  Thurnall !  you  do  not 
talk  of  that  frightful  scourge  —  so  disgusting,  too, 
in  its  character  —  as  a  matter  of  profit  and  loss  1 
It  is  sordid,  cold-hearted !  " 

"  My  dear  sir,  if  I  let  myself  think,  much  more 
talk,  about  the  matter  in  any  other  tone,  I  should 
face  the  thing  poorly  enough  when  it  came.  I 
shall  have  work  enough  to  keep  my  head  about 
the  end  of  August  or  beginning  of  September, 
and  I  must  not  lose  it  beforehand,  by  indulging 
in  any  horror,  disgust,  or  other  emotion  perfectly 
justifiable  in  a  layman." 

"  But  are  not  doctors  men?  " 


262  Two  Years  Ago 

"That  depends  very  much  on  what  'a  man* 
means." 

"  Men  with  human  sympathy  and  compassion." 

"  Oh,  I  mean  by  a  man,  a  man  with  human 
strength.  My  dear  sir,  one  may  be  too  busy,  and 
at  doing  good  too  (though  that  is  not  my  line, 
save  professionally,  because  it  is  my  only  way  of 
earning  money)  ;  but  one  may  be  too  busy  at 
doing  good  to  have  time  for  compassion.  If  while 
I  was  cutting  a  man's  leg  off  I  thought  of  the  pain 
which  he  was  suffering " 

"  Thank  Heaven  !  "  said  Elsley,  "  that  it  was  not 
my  lot  to  become  a  medical  man." 

Tom  looked  at  him  with  the  quaintest  smile: 
a  flush  of  mingled  anger  and  contempt  had 
been  rising  in  him  as  he  heard  the  ex-bottle 
boy  talking  sentiment,  but  he  only  went  on 
quietly : 

"  No,  sir ;  with  your  more  delicate  sensibilities, 
you  may  thank  Heaven  that  you  did  not  become 
a  medical  man ;  your  life  would  have  been  one  of 
torture,  disgust,  and  agonizing  sense  of  respon- 
sibility. But  do  you  not  see  that  you  must  thank 
Heaven  for  the  sufferer's  sake  also?  I  will  not 
shock  you  again  by  talking  of  amputation;  but 
even  in  the  smallest  matter  —  even  if  you  were 
merely  sending  medicine  to  an  old  maid  —  sup- 
pose that  your  imagination  were  preoccupied  by 
the  thought  of  her  old  age,  her  sufferings,  her  dis- 
appointed hopes,  her  regretful  dream  of  bygone 
youth,  and  beauty,  and  love,  and  all  the  tender 
fancies  which  might  well  spring  out  of  such  a 
mournful  spectacle,  would  you  not  be  but  too 
likely  (pardon  the  pathos)  to  end  by  sending  her 
an  elderly  gentleman's  medicine  after  all,  and  so 


The  Recognition  263 

either  frightfully  increasing  her  sufferings,  or  end- 
ing them  once  for  all  ?  " 

Tom  said  this  in  the  most  quiet  and  natural 
tone,  without  even  a  twinkle  of  his  wicked  eye : 
but  Elsley  heard  him  begin  with  reddening  face ; 
and  as  he  went  on,  the  red  had  turned  to  purple, 
and  then  to  deadly  yellow ;  till  making  a  half-step 
forward  he  cried  fiercely : 

"  Sir ! "  and  then  stopped  suddenly ;  for  his 
feet  slipped  upon  the  polished  stone,  and  on  his 
face  he  fell  into  the  pool  at  Thurnall's  feet. 

"  Well  for  both  of  us  geese !  "  said  Tom,  in- 
wardly, as  he  went  to  pick  him  up.  "  I  verily 
believe  he  was  going  to  strike  me,  and  that  would 
have  done  for  neither  of  us.  I  was  a  fool  to  say 
it;  but  the  temptation  was  so  exquisite;  and  it 
must  have  come  some  day." 

But  Vavasour  staggered  up  of  his  own  accord, 
and  dashing  away  Tom's  proffered  hand,  was  rush- 
ing off  without  a  word. 

"  Not  so,  Mr.  John  Briggs  !  "  said  Tom,  making 
up  his  mind  in  a  moment  that  he  must  have  it  out 
now,  or  never ;  and  that  he  might  have  everything 
to  fear  from  Vavasour  if  he  let  him  go  home  furi- 
ous. "  We  do  not  part  thus,  sir !  " 

"We  will  meet  again,  if  you  will,"  foamed  Vava- 
sour, "  but  it  shall  end  in  the  death  of  one  of  us !  " 

"By  each  other's  potions?  I  can  doctor  my- 
self, sir,  thank  you.  Listen  to  me,  John  Briggs ! 
You  shall  listen  !  "  and  Tom  sprang  past  him,  and 
planted  himself  at  the  foot  of  the  rock  steps,  to 
prevent  his  escaping  upward. 

"  What,  do  you  wish  to  quarrel  with  me,  sir?  It 
is  I  who  ought  to  quarrel  with  you.  I  am  the 
aggrieved  party,  and  not  you,  sirl  I  have  not 


264  Two  Years  Ago 

seen  the  son  of  the  man  who,  when  I  was  an  apoth- 
ecary's boy,  petted  me,  lent  me  books,  introduced 
me  as  a  genius,  turned  my  head  for  me  —  which 
was  just  what  I  was  vain  enough  to  enjoy  —  I 
have  not  seen  that  man's  son  cast  ashore  penni- 
less and  friendless,  and  yet  never  held  out  to  him 
a  helping  hand,  but  tried  to  conceal  my  identity 
from  him,  from  a  dirty  shame  of  my  honest 
father's  honest  name." 

Vavasour  dropped  his  eyes,  for  was  it  not  true? 
but  he  raised  them  again  more  fiercely  than  ever. 

"  Curse  you !  I  owe  you  nothing.  It  was  you 
who  made  me  ashamed  of  it.  You  rhymed  on  it,  and 
laughed  about  poetry  coming  out  of  such  a  name." 

"  And  what  if  I  did  ?  Are  poets  to  be  made  of 
nothing  but  tinder  and  gall?  Why  could  you  not 
take  an  honest  joke  as  it  was  meant  and  go  your 
way  like  other  people,  till  you  had  shown  yourself 
worth  something,  and  won  honor  even  for  the 
name  of  Briggs  ?  " 

"  And  I  have !  I  have  my  own  station  now, 
my  own  fame,  sir,  and  it  is  nothing  to  you  what 
I  choose  to  call  myself.  I  have  won  my  place,  I 
say,  and  your  mean  envy  cannot  rob  me  of  it." 

"You  have  your  station.  Very  good,"  said 
Tom,  not  caring  to  notice  the  imputation ;  "  you 
owe  the  greater  part  of  it  to  your  having  made  a 
most  fortunate  marriage,  for  which  I  respect  you, 
as  a  practical  man.  Let  your  poetry  be  what  it 
may  (and  people  tell  me  that  it  is  really  very 
beautiful),  your  match  shows  me  that  you  are  a 
clever,  and  therefore  a  successful  person." 

"Do  you  take  me  for  a  sordid  schemer,  like 
yourself?  I  loved  what  was  worthy  of  me,  and 
won  it  because  I  deserved  it" 


The  Recognition  265 

"Then,  having  won  it,  treat  it  as  it  deserves," 
said  Tom,  with  a  cool,  searching  look,  before 
which  Vavasour's  eyes  fell  again.  "  Understand 
me,  Mr.  John  Briggs ;  it  is  of  no  consequence  to 
me  what  you  call  yourself:  but  it  is  of  conse- 
quence to  me  that  I  should  not  have  a  patient  in 
my  parish  whom  I  cannot  cure ;  for  I  cannot  cure 
broken  hearts,  though  they  will  be  simple  enough 
to  come  to  me  for  medicine." 

"  You  shall  have  no  chance  !  You  shall  never  enter 
my  house  !  You  shall  not  ruin  me,  sir,  by  your  bills !  " 

Tom  made  no  answer  to  this  fresh  insult.  He 
had  another  game  to  play. 

"Take  care  what  you  say,  Briggs;  remember 
that,  after  all,  you  are  in  my  power,  and  I  had 
better  remind  you  plainly  of  the  fact." 

"  And  you  mean  to  make  me  your  tool  ?  I  will 
die  first !  " 

"  I  believe  that,"  said  Tom,  who  was  very  near 
adding,  "that  he  should  be  sorry  to  work  with 
such  tools." 

"  My  tools  are  my  lancet  and  my  drugs,"  said 
he,  quietly,  "  and  all  I  have  to  say  refers  to  them. 
It  suits  my  purpose  to  become  the  principal  medi- 
cal man  in  this  neighborhood " 

"And  I  am  to  tout  for  introductions  for  you?" 

"  You  are  to  be  so  very  kind  as  to  allow  me  to 
finish  my  sentence,  just  as  you  would  allow  any 
other  gentleman ;  and  because  I  wish  for  practice, 
and  patients,  and  power,  you  will  be  so  kind  as 
to  treat  me  henceforth  as  one  high-minded  man 
would  treat  another  to  whom  he  is  obliged.  For 
you  know,  John  Briggs,  as  well  as  I,"  said  Tom, 
drawing  himself  up  to  his  full  height,  "  look  me  in 
the  face,  if  you  can,  ere  you  deny  it,  that  I  was, 


266  Two  Years  Ago 

while  you  knew  me,  as  honorable  a  man  and  as 
kind-hearted  a  man,  as  you  ever  were;  and  that 
now  —  considering  the  circumstances  under  which 
we  meet — you  have  more  reason  to  trust  me  than 
I  have,  primd  facie,  to  trust  you." 

Vavasour  answered  not  a  word. 

"Good-bye,  then,"  said  Tom,  drawing  aside 
from  the  step ;  "  Mrs.  Vavasour  will  be  anxious 
about  you !  And  mind !  With  regard  to  her 
first  of  all,  sir,  and  then  with  regard  to  other  mat- 
ters —  as  long,  and  only  as  long,  as  you  remember 
that  you  are  John  Briggs  of  Whitbury,  I  shall  be 
the  first  to  forget  it.  There  is  my  hand,  for  old 
acquaintance'  sake." 

Vavasour  took  the  proffered  hand  coldly,  paused 
a  moment,  and  then  wrung  it  in  silence,  and  hurried 
away  home. 

"  Have  I  played  my  ace  ill  after  all  ?  "  said  Tom, 
sitting  down  to  consider.  "As  for  whether  I 
should  have  played  it  at  all,  that 's  no  business  of 
mine  now.  Madame  Might-have-been  may  see 
to  that.  But  did  I  play  ill  ?  for  if  I  did,  I  may  try 
a  new  lead  yet.  Ought  I  to  have  twitted  him 
about  his  wife?  If  he's  venomous,  it  may  only 
make  matters  worse ;  and  still  worse  if  he  be  sus- 
picious. I  don't  think  he  was  either  in  old  times ; 
but  vanity  will  make  a  man  so,  and  it  may  have 
made  him.  Well,  I  must  only  ingratiate  myself 
all  the  more  with  her ;  and  find  out,  too,  whether 
she  has  his  secret  as  well  as  I.  What  I  am  most 
afraid  of  is  my  having  told  him  plainly  that  he 
was  in  my  power;  it's  apt  to  make  sprats  of  his 
size  flounce  desperately,  in  the  mere  hope  of  prov- 
ing themselves  whales  after  all,  if  it 's  only  to  their 
miserable  selves.  Never  mind ;  he  can't  break  my 


The  Recognition  267 

tackle ;  and  besides,  that  grip  of  the  hand  seemed  to 
indicate  that  the  poor  wretch  was  beat,  and  thought 
himself  let  off  easily  —  as  indeed  he  is.  We  '11  hope 
so.  Now,  zoophytes,  for  another  turn  with  you  !  " 
To  tell  the  truth,  however,  Tom  is  looking  for 
more  than  zoophytes,  and  has  been  doing  so  at 
every  dead  low  tide  since  he  was  wrecked.  He 
has  heard  nothing  yet  of  his  belt.  The  notes 
have  not  been  presented  at  the  London  bank; 
nobody  in  the  village  has  been  spending  more 
money  than  usual ;  for  cunning  Tom  has  contrived 
already  to  know  how  many  pints  of  ale  every  man 
of  whom  he  has  the  least  doubt  has  drunk.  Per- 
haps, after  all,  the  belt  may  have  been  torn  off  in 
the  life  struggle ;  it  may  have  been  for  a  moment 
in  Grace's  hands,  and  then  have  been  swept  back 
into  the  sea.  What  more  likely?  And  what  more 
likely,  in  that  case,  than,  sinking  by  its  weight,  it 
is  wedged  away  in  some  cranny  of  the  rocks  ?  So 
spring-tide  after  spring-tide  Tom  searches,  and  all 
the  more  carefully  because  others  are  searching 
too,  for  waifs  and  strays  from  the  wreck.  Sad 
relics  of  mortality  he  finds  at  times,  as  others  do : 
once,  even,  a  dressing-case,  full  of  rings  and  pins 
and  chains,  which  belonged,  he  fancied,  to  a  gay 
young  bride  with  whom  he  had  waltzed  many  a 
time  on  deck,  as  they  slipped  along  before  the 
soft  trade-wind :  but  no  belt.  He  sent  the  dress- 
ing-case to  the  Lloyd's  underwriters,  and  searched 
on :  but  in  vain.  Neither  could  he  find  that  any 
one  else  had  forestalled  him ;  and  that  very  after- 
noon, sulky  and  disheartened,  he  determined  to 
waste  no  more  time  about  the  matter,  and  strode 
home,  vowing  signal  vengeance  against  the  thief, 
if  he  caught  him. 


268  Two  Years  Ago 

"And  I  will  catch  him!  These  West-country 
yokels,  to  fancy  that  they  can  do  Tom  Thurnall ! 
It's  adding  insult  to  injury,  as  Sam  Weller's 
parrot  has  it." 

Now  his  shortest  way  home  lay  across  the  shore, 
and  then  along  the  beach,  and  up  the  steps  by  the 
little  waterfall,  past  Mrs.  Harvey's  door;  and  at 
that  door  sat  Grace,  sewing  in  the  sun.  She 
looked  up  and  bowed  as  he  passed,  smiling 
modestly,  and  little  dreaming  of  what  was  passing 
in  his  mind ;  and  when  a  very  lovely  girl  smiled 
and  bowed  to  Tom,  he  must  needs  do  the  same  to 
her ;  whereon  she  added : 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir :  have  you  heard  any- 
thing of  the  money  you  lost?  I — we — have 
been  so  ashamed  to  think  of  such  a  thing  hap- 
pening here." 

Tom's  evil  spirit  was  roused. 

"Have  you  heard  anything  of  it,  Miss  Harvey? 
For  you  seem  to  me  the  only  person  in  the  place 
who  knows  anything  about  the  matter." 

"I,  sir?  "cried  Grace,  fixing  her  great  startled 
eyes  full  on  him. 

"  Why,  ma'am,"  said  Tom,  with  a  courtly  smile, 
"  you  may  possibly  recollect,  if  you  will  so  far  tax 
your  memory,  that  you  had  it  in  your  hands  at 
least  a  moment,  when  you  did  me  the  kindness  to 
save  my  life ;  and  as  you  were  kind  enough  to 
inform  me  that  I  should  recover  it  when  I  was 
worthy  of  it,  I  suppose  I  have  not  yet  risen  in 
your  eyes  to  the  required  state  of  conversion  and 
regeneration."  And  swinging  impatiently  away, 
he  walked  on,  really  afraid  lest  he  should  say 
something  rude. 

Grace  half  called  after  him,  and  then  suddenly 


The  Recognition  269 

checking  herself,  rushed  in  to  her  mother  with  a 
wild  and  pale  face. 

"  What  is  this  Mr.  Thurnall  has  been  saying  to 
me  about  his  belt  and  money  which  he  lost?  " 

"About  what?  Has  he  been  rude  to  you,  the 
bad  man  ?  "  cried  Mrs.  Harvey,  dropping  the  pie- 
dish  in  some  confusion,  and  taking  a  long  while  to 
pick  up  the  pieces. 

"  About  the  belt  —  the  money  which  he  lost ! 
Why  don't  you  speak,  mother?" 

"Belt  —  money?  Ah,  I  recollect  now.  He 
has  lost  some  money,  he  says." 

"  Of  course  he  has." 

"  How  should  you  know  anything?  I  recollect 
there  was  some  talk  of  it,  though.  But  what 
matter  what  he  says?  He  was  quite  passed  away, 
I  '11  swear,  when  they  carried  him  up." 

"  But,  mother !  mother !  he  says  that  I  know 
about  it;  that  I  had  it  in  my  hands !  " 

"You?  Oh,  the  wicked  wretch,  the  false,  un- 
grateful, slanderous  child  of  wrath,  with  adder's 
poison  under  his  lips  !  No,  my  child  !  Though 
we  're  poor,  we  're  honest !  Let  him  slander  us, 
rob  us  of  our  good  name,  send  us  to  prison  if  he 
will  —  he  cannot  rob  us  of  our  souls.  We  '11  be 
silent;  we  '11  turn  the  other  cheek,  and  commit  our 
cause  to  One  above  who  pleads  for  the  orphan 
and  the  widow.  We  will  not  strive  nor  cry,  my 
child.  Oh,  no  !  "  And  Mrs.  Harvey  began  fus- 
sing over  the  smashed  pie-dish. 

"  I  shall  not  strive  nor  cry,  mother,"  said  Grace, 
who  had  recovered  her  usual  calm ;  "  but  he 
must  have  some  cause  for  these  strange  words. 
Do  you  recollect  seeing  me  with  the  belt?" 

''Belt,  what's  a  belt?     I   know  nothing  about 


270  Two  Years  Ago 

belts.  I  tell  you  he 's  a  villain,  and  a  slanderer. 
Oh,  that  it  should  have  come  to  this,  to  have 
my  child's  fair  fame  blasted  by  a  wretch  that 
comes  nobody  knows  where  from,  and  has  been 
doing  nobody  knows  what,  for  ought  I  know !  " 

"  Mother,  mother !  we  know  no  harm  of  him. 
If  he  is  mistaken,  God  forgive  him  !  " 

"If  he  is  mistaken?"  went  on  Mrs.  Harvey, 
still  over  the  pie-dish:  but  Grace  gave  her  no 
answer.  She  was  deep  in  thought.  She  recol- 
lected now,  that  as  she  had  gone  up  the  path  from 
the  cove  on  that  eventful  morning,  she  had  seen 
Willis  and  Thurnall  whispering  earnestly  together ; 
and  she  recollected  now,  for  the  first  time,  that 
there  had  been  a  certain  sadness  and  perplexity, 
almost  reserve,  about  Willis  ever  since.  Good 
heavens !  could  he  suspect  her  too  ?  She  would 
find  out  that  at  least;  and  no  sooner  had  her 
mother  fussed  away,  talking  angrily  to  herself,  into 
the  back  kitchen,  than  Grace  put  on  her  bonnet 
and  shawl,  and  went  forth  to  find  the  captain. 

In  an  hour  she  returned.  Her  lips  were  firm 
set,  her  cheeks  pale,  her  eyes  red  with  weeping. 
She  said  nothing  to  her  mother,  who  for  her  part 
did  not  seem  inclined  to  allude  again  to  the 
matter. 

"  Where  have  you  been,  child  ?  You  look 
quite  poorly,  and  your  eyes  are  red." 

"The  wind  is  very  cold,  mother,"  said  she, 
and  went  into  her  room.  Her  mother  looked 
sharply  after  her,  and  muttered  to  herself. 

Grace  went  in,  and  sat  down  on  the  bed. 

"What  a  coldness  this  is  at  my  heart!"  she 
said  aloud  to  herself,  trying  to  smile;  but  she 
could  not;  and  she  sat  on  the  bedside,  without 


The  Recognition  271 

taking  off  her  bonnet  and  shawl,  her  hands 
hanging  listlessly  by  her  side,  her  head  drooping 
on  her  bosom,  till  her  mother  called  her  to  tea: 
then  she  was  forced  to  rouse  herself,  and  went 
out,  composed,  but  utterly  wretched. 

Tom  walked  up  homeward,  very  ill  at  ease.  He 
had  played,  to  use  his  nomenclature,  two  trump 
cards  running,  and  was  by  no  means  satisfied  that 
he  had  played  them  well.  He  had  no  right, 
certainly,  to  be  satisfied  with  either  move;  for 
both  had  been  made  in  a  somewhat  evil  spirit, 
and  certainly  for  no  very  disinterested  end. 

That  was  a  view  of  the  matter,  however,  which 
never  entered  his  mind;  there  was  only  that 
general  dissatisfaction  with  himself  which  is, 
though  men  try  hard  to  deny  the  fact,  none 
other  than  the  supernatural  sting  of  conscience. 
He  tried  "  to  lay  to  his  soul  the  flattering  unction  " 
that  he  might,  after  all,  be  of  use  to  Mrs.  Vava- 
sour, by  using  his  power  over  her  husband;  but 
he  knew  in  his  secret  heart  that  any  move  of  his 
in  that  direction  was  likely  only  to  make  matters 
worse ;  that  to-day's  explosion  might  only  have 
sent  home  the  hapless  Vavasour  in  a  more 
irritable  temper  than  ever.  And  thinking  over 
many  things,  backward  and  forward,  he  saw  his 
own  way  so  little,  that  he  actually  condescended 
to  go  and  "  pump  "  Frank  Headley.  So  he  termed 
it:  but  after  all,  it  was  only  like  asking  advice  of 
a  good  man,  because  he  did  not  feel  himself  quite 
good  enough  to  advise  himself. 

The  curate  was  preparing  to  sally  forth,  after 
his  frugal  dinner.  The  morning  he  spent  at  the 
schools,  or  in  parish  secularities ;  the  afternoon, 
till  dusk,  was  devoted  to  visiting  the  poor;  the 


272  Two  Years  Ago 

night,  not  to  sleep,  but  to  reading  and  sermon  writ- 
ing. Thus,  by  sitting  up  till  two  in  the  morning, 
and  rising  again  at  six  for  his  private  devotions, 
before  walking  a  mile  and  a  half  up  to  church  for  the 
morning  service,  Frank  Headley  burnt  the  candle 
of  life  at  both  ends  very  effectually,  and  showed 
that  he  did  so  by  his  pale  cheeks  and  red  eyes. 

"  Ah  !  "  said  Tom,  as  he  entered.  "  As  usual : 
poor  nature  is  being  robbed  and  murdered  by  rich 
grace." 

"What  do  you  mean  now?"  asked  Frank,  smil- 
ing, for  he  had  become  accustomed  enough  to 
Tom's  quaint  parables,  though  he  had  to  scold 
him  often  enough  for  their  irreverence. 

"  Nature  says,  '  After  dinner  sit  awhile ; '  and 
even  the  dumb  animals  hear  her  voice,  and  lie  by 
for  a  siesta  when  their  stomachs  are  full.  Grace 
says,  'Jump  up  and  rush  out  the  moment  you 
have  swallowed  your  food ;  and  if  you  get  an 
indigestion,  abuse  poor  nature  for  it,  and  lay  the 
blame  on  Adam's  fall.'  " 

"  You  are  irreverent,  my  good  sir,  as  usual ;  but 
you  are  unjust  also  this  time." 

"How  then?" 

"  Unjust  to  grace,  as  you  phrase  it,"  answered 
Frank,  with  a  quaint  sad  smile.  "  I  assure  you  on 
my  honor  that  grace  has  nothing  whatsoever  to 
do  with  my  'rushing  out*  just  now,  but  simply 
the  desire  to  do  my  good  works  that  they  may  be 
seen  of  men.  I  hate  going  out.  I  should  like  to 
sit  and  read  the  whole  afternoon :  but  I  am  afraid 
lest  the  dissenters  should  say,  '  He  has  not  been 
to  see  So-and-so  for  the  last  three  days ; '  so  off 
I  go,  and  no  credit  to  me." 

Why  had  Frank  dared,  upon  a  month's  acquaint- 


The  Recognition  273 

ance,  to  lay  bare  his  own  heart  thus  to  a  man  of 
no  creed  at  all?  Because,  I  suppose,  amid  all 
differences,  he  had  found  one  point  of  likeness 
between  himself  and  Thurnall ;  he  had  found  that 
Tom  at  heart  was  a  truly  genuine  man,  sincere  and 
faithful  to  his  own  scheme  of  the  universe. 

How  that  man,  through  all  his  eventful  life,  had 
been  enabled  to 

"  Bate  not  a  jot  of  heart  or  hope, 
But  steer  right  onward," 

was  a  problem  which  Frank  longed  curiously,  and 
yet  fearfully  withal,  to  solve.  There  were  many 
qualities  in  him  which  Frank  could  not  but  admire, 
and  long  to  imitate ;  and,  "  Whence  had  they 
come  ?  "  was  another  problem  at  which  he  looked, 
trembling  as  many  a  new  thought  crossed  him. 
He  longed,  too,  to  learn  from  Tom  somewhat  at 
least  of  that  savoir  faire,  that  power  of  "  becoming 
all  things  to  all  men,"  which  St.  Paul  had;  and 
for  want  of  which  Frank  had  failed.  He  saw,  too, 
with  surprise,  that  Tom  had  gained  in  one  month 
more  real  insight  into  the  characters  of  his  parish- 
ioners than  he  had  done  in  twelve ;  and  besides 
all,  there  was  the  craving  of  the  lonely  heart  for 
human  confidence  and  friendship.  So  it  befell 
that  Frank  spoke  out  his  inmost  thought  that  day, 
and  thought  no  shame  ;  and  it  befell  also,  that 
Thurnall,  when  he  heard  it,  said  in  his  heart: 

"What  a  noble,  honest  fellow  you  are,  when 
you " 

But  he  answered  enigmatically : 

"  Oh,  I  quite  agree  with  you  that  grace  has 
nothing  to  do  with  it.  I  only  referred  it  to  that 
source  because  I  thought  you  would  do  so." 


274  Two  Years  Ago 

"  You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  your  dishonesty, 
then." 

"  I  know  it ;  but  my  view  of  the  case  is,  that  you 
rush  out  after  dinner  for  the  very  same  reason  that 
the  Yankee  storekeeper  does  —  from  —  You  '11  for- 
give me  if  I  say  it?" 

"  Of  course.  You  cannot  speak  too  plainly  to 
me." 

"  Conceit ;  the  Yankee  fancies  himself  such  an 
important  person  that  the  commercial  world  will 
stand  still  unless  he  flies  back  to  its  help  after  ten 
minutes'  gobbling,  with  his  mouth  full  of  pork 
and  pickled  peaches.  And  you  fancy  yourself  so 
important  in  your  line,  that  the  spiritual  world  will 
stand  still  unless  you  bolt  back  to  help  it  in  like 
wise.  Substitute  a  half-cooked  mutton  chop  for 
the  pork,  and  the  cases  are  exact  parallels." 

"  Your  parallel  does  not  hold  good,  doctor.  The 
Yankee  goes  back,  to  his  store  to  earn  money  for 
himself,  and  not  to  keep  commerce  alive." 

"  While  you  go  for  utterly  disinterested  motives. 
I  see." 

"Do  you?"  said  Frank.  "If  you  think  that  I 
fancy  myself  a  better  man  than  the  Yankee,  you 
mistake  me ;  but  at  least  you  will  confess  that  I 
am  not  working  for  money." 

"  No ;  you  have  your  notions  of  reward,  and  he 
has  his.  He  wants  to  be  paid  by  material  dollars, 
payable  next  month ;  you  by  spiritual  dollars,  pay- 
able when  you  die.  I  don't  see  the  great  difference." 

"  Only  the  slight  difference  between  what  is 
material  and  what  is  spiritual." 

"They  seem  to  me,  from  all  I  can  hear  in 
pulpits,  to  be  only  two  different  sorts  of  pleasant 
things,  and  to  be  sought  after,  both  alike,  simply 


The  Recognition  275 

because  they  are  pleasant.  Self-interest,  if  you 
will  forgive  me,  seems  to  me  the  spring  of  both ; 
only,  to  do  you  justice,  you  are  a  farther-sighted 
and  more  prudent  man  than  the  Yankee  store- 
keeper; and  having  more  exquisitely  developed 
notions  of  what  your  true  self-interest  is,  are 
content  to  wait  a  little  longer  than  he." 

"  You  stab  with  a  jest,  Thurnall.  You  little 
know  how  your  words  hit  home." 

"  Well,  then,  to  turn  from  a  matter  of  which 
I  know  nothing  —  I  must  keep  you  in,  and 
give  you  parish  business  to  do  at  home.  I  am 
come  to  consult  you  as  my  spiritual  pastor  and 
master." 

Frank  looked  a  little  astonished. 

"  Don't  be  alarmed.  I  am  not  going  to  confess 
my  own  sins  —  only  other  people's." 

"  Pray  don't,  therr^  I  know  far  more  of  them 
already  than  I  can  cure.  I  am  worn  out  with  the 
daily  discovery  of  fresh  evil  wherever  I  go." 

"  Then  why  not  comfort  yourself  by  trying  to 
find  a  little  fresh  good  wherever  you  go  ?  " 

Frank  sighed. 

"  Perhaps,  though,  you  don't  care  for  any  sort 
of  good  except  your  own  sort  of  good.  You  are 
fastidious.  Well,  you  have  your  excuses.  But 
you  can  understand  a  poor  fellow  like  me,  who 
has  been  dragged  through  the  slums  and  sewers  of 
this  wicked  world  for  fifteen  years  and  more, 
being  very  well  content  with  any  sort  of  good 
which  I  can  light  on,  and  not  particular  as  to 
either  quantity  or  quality." 

"  Perhaps  yours  is  the  healthier  state  of  mind, 
if  you  can  only  find  the  said  good.  The  vulturine 
nose,  which  smells  nothing  but  corruption,  is  no 


276  Two  Years  Ago 

credit  to  its  possessor.  And  it  would  be  pleasant, 
at  least,  to  find  good  in  every  man." 

"  One  can't  do  that  in  one's  study.  Mixing 
with  them  is  the  only  plan.  No  doubt  they  're 
inconsistent  enough.  The  more  you  see  of  them, 
the  less  you  trust  them ;  and  yet  the  more  you 
see  of  them,  the  more  you  like  them.  Can  you 
solve  that  paradox  from  your  books?" 

"  I  will  try,"  said  Frank.  "  I  generally  have 
more  than  one  to  think  over  when  you  go.  But, 
surely,  there  are  men  so  fallen  that  they  are  utterly 
insensible  to  good." 

"  Very  likely.  There 's  no  saying  in  this  world 
what  may  not  be.  Only  I  never  saw  one.  I  '11 
tell  you  a  story;  you  may  apply  it  as  you  like. 
When  I  was  on  the  Texan  expedition,  and  raw  to 
soldiering  and  camping,  we  had  to  sleep  in  low 
ground,  and  suffered  terribly  from  a  miasma. 
Deadly  cold  it  was,  when  it  came ;  and  the  man 
who  once  got  chilled  through  with  it,  just  died. 
I  was  lying  on  the  bare  ground  one  night,  and 
chilly  enough  I  was  —  for  I  was  short  of  clothes, 
and  had  lost  my  buffalo  robe  —  but  fell  asleep: 
and  on  waking  the  next  morning,  I  found  myself 
covered  up  in  my  comrade's  blankets,  even  to  his 
coat,  while  he  was  sitting  shivering  in  his  shirt 
sleeves.  The  cold  fog  had  come  down  in  the 
night,  and  the  man  had  stripped  himself,  and  sat 
all  night  with  death  staring  him  in  the  face,  to  save 
my  life.  And  all  the  reason  he  gave  was,  that  if 
one  of  us  must  die,  it  was  better  the  older  should 
go  first,  and  not  a  youngster  like  me.  And,"  said 
Tom,  lowering  his  voice,  "  that  man  was  a 
murderer !  " 

"  A  murderer  1 " 


The  Recognition  277 

"  Yes ;  a  drunken,  gambling,  cut-throat  rowdy 
as  ever  grew  ripe  for  the  gallows.  Now,  will  you 
tell  me  that  there  was  nothing  in  that  man  but 
what  the  devil  put  there?" 

Frank  sat  meditating  awhile  on  this  strange 
story,  which  is  moreover  a  true  one;  and  then 
looked  up  with  something  like  tears  in  his  eyes. 

"And  he  did  not  die?" 

"  Not  he !  I  saw  him  die  afterwards  —  shot 
through  the  heart,  without  time  even  to  cry  out. 
But  I  have  not  forgotten  what  he  did  for  me  that 
night ;  and  I  '11  tell  you  what,  sir !  I  do  not  believe 
that  God  has  forgotten  it  either." 

Frank  was  silent  for  a  few  moments,  and  then 
Tom  changed  the  subject. 

"  I  want  to  know  what  you  can  tell  me  about 
this  Mr.  Vavasour." 

"  Hardly  anything,  I  am  sorry  to  say.  I  was  at 
his  house  at  tea,  two  or  three  times,  when  I  first 
came;  and  I  had  very  agreeable  evenings,  and 
talks  on  art  and  poetry :  but  I  believe  I  offended 
him  by  hinting  that  he  ought  to  come  to  church, 
which  he  never  does,  and  since  then  our  acquaint- 
ance has  all  but  ceased.  I  suppose  you  will  say, 
as  usual,  that  I  played  my  cards  badly  there  also." 

"  Not  at  all !  "  said  Tom,  who  was  disposed  to 
take  any  one's  part  against  Elsley.  "  If  a  clergy- 
man has  not  a  right  to  tell  a  man  that,  I  don't  see 
what  right  he  has  of  any  kind.  Only,"  added  he, 
with  one  of  his  quaint  smiles,  "  the  clergyman,  if 
he  compels  a  man  to  deal  at  his  store,  is  bound  to 
furnish  him  with  the  articles  which  he  wants." 

"  Which  he  needs,  or  which  he  likes?  For 
'wanting'  has  both  those  meanings." 

"  With  something  that  he  finds  by  experience 


278  Two  Years  Ago 

does  him  good :  and  so  learns  to  like  it,  because 
he  knows  that  he  needs  it,  as  my  patients  do  my 
physic." 

"  I  wish  my  patients  would  do  so  by  mine:  but, 
unfortunately,  half  of  them  seem  to  me  not  to  know 
what  their  disease  is,  and  the  other  half  do  not  think 
they  are  diseased  at  all." 

"  Well,"  said  Tom,  drily,  "  perhaps  some  of  them 
are  more  right  than  you  fancy.  Every  man  knows 
his  own  business  best." 

"  If  it  were  so,  they  would  go  about  it  some- 
what differently  from  what  most  of  the  poor 
creatures  do." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?  I  fancy  myself  that  not 
one  of  them  does  a  wrong  thing,  but  what  he 
knows  it  to  be  wrong  just  as  well  as  you  do,  and 
is  much  more  ashamed  and  frightened  about  it 
already,  than  you  can  ever  make  him  by  preaching 
at  him." 

"Do  you?" 

"  I  do.     I  judge  of  others  by  myself." 

"  Then  would  you  have  a  clergyman  never  warn 
his  people  of  their  sins?" 

"  If  I  were  he,  I  'd  much  sooner  take  the  sins 
for  granted,  and  say  to  them,  '  Now,  my  friends, 
I  know  you  are  all,  ninety-nine  out  of  the  hundred 
of  you,  not  such  bad  fellows  at  bottom,  and  would 
all  like  to  be  good,  if  you  only  knew  how ;  so  I  '11 
tell  you  as  far  as  I  know,  though  I  don't  know 
much  about  the  matter.  For  the  truth  is,  you 
must  have  a  hundred  troubles  every  day  which  I 
never  felt  in  my  life :  and  it  must  be  a  very  hard 
thing  to  keep  body  and  soul  together,  and  to  get 
a  little  pleasure  on  this  side  the  grave  without 
making  blackguards  of  yourselves.  Therefore  I 


The  Recognition  279 

don't  pretend  to  set  myself  up  as  a  better  or  a 
wiser  man  than  you  at  all :  but  I  do  know  a  thing 
or  two  which  L  fancy  may  be  useful  to  you.  You 
can  but  try  it.  So  come  up,  if  you  like,  any  of 
you,  and  talk  matters  over  with  me  as  between 
gentleman  and  gentleman.  I  shall  keep  your 
secret,  of  course  ;  and  if  you  find  I  can't  cure  your 
complaint,  why,  you  can  but  go  away  and  try 
elsewhere.' " 

"  And  so  the  doctor's  model  sermon  ends  in 
proposing  private  confession  !  " 

"  Of  course.  The  thing  itself  which  will  do 
them  good,  without  the  red  rag  of  an  official 
name,  which  sends  them  cackling  off  like  fright- 
ened turkeys.  Such  private  confession  as  is  going 
on  between  you  and  me  now.  Here  am  I  confess- 
ing to  you  all  my  unorthodoxy." 

"  And  I  my  ignorance,"  said  Frank ;  "  for  I 
really  believe  you  know  more  about  the  matter 
than  I  do." 

"Not  at  all.  I  may  be  all  wrong.  But  the 
fault  of  your  cloth  seems  to  me  to  be  that  they 
apply  their  medicines  without  deigning,  most  of 
them,  to  take  the  least  diagnosis  of  the  case.  How 
could  I  cure  a  man  without  first  examining  what 
was  the  matter  with  him?" 

"  So  say  the  old  casuists,  of  whom  I  have  read 
enough  —  some  would  say  too  much ;  but  they  do 
not  satisfy  me.  They  deal  with  actions,  and  mo- 
tives, and  so  forth  ;  but  they  do  not  go  down  to 
the  one  root  of  wrong  which  is  the  same  in  every 
man." 

"  You  are  getting  beyond  me :  but  why  do  you 
not  apply  a  little  of  the  worldly  wisdom  which  these 
same  casuists  taught  you  ?  " 


280  Two  Years  Ago 

"To  tell  you  the  truth,  I  have  tried  in  past 
years,  and  found  that  the  medicine  would  not 
act." 

"  Humph !  Well,  that  would  depend,  again,  on 
the  previous  diagnosis  of  human  nature  being  cor- 
rect; and  those  old  monks,  I  should  say,  would 
know  about  as  much  of  human  nature  as  so  many 
daws  in  a  steeple.  Still,  you  would  n't  say  that 
what  was  the  matter  with  old  Heale  was  the  matter 
also  with  Vavasour?  " 

"  I  believe  from  my  heart  that  it  is." 
"  Humph  !    Then  you  know  the  symptoms  of  his 
complaint?" 

"  I  know  that  he  never  comes  to  church." 
"  Nothing  more  ?     I  am  really  speaking  in  con- 
fidence.    You  surely  have  heard  of  disagreements 
between  him  and  Mrs.  Vavasour?  " 
"  Never,  I  assure  you ;  you  shock  me." 
"  I  am   exceedingly  sorry,  then,  that  I  said  a 
word  about  it :  but  the  whole  parish  talks  of  it," 
answered   Tom,  who  was   surprised  at  this  fresh 
proof  of  the  little  confidence  which  Aberalva  put 
in  their  parson. 

"  Ah !  "  said  Frank,  sadly,  "  I  am  the  last  person 
in  the  parish  to  hear  any  news ;  but  this  is  very 
distressing." 

"Very,   to    me.      My  honor,  to  tell  you   the 
truth,  as  a  medical  man,  is  concerned  in  the  mat- 
ter; for  she  is  growing  quite  ill  from  unhappiness, 
and  I  cannot  cure  her ;  so  I  come  to  you,  as  soul- 
doctor,  to  do  what  I,  the  body-doctor,  cannot." 
Frank  sat  pondering  for  a  minute,  and  then : 
"  You  set  me  on  a  task  for  which  I  am  as  little 
fit  as  any  man,  by  your  own  showing.     What  do  I 
know  of  disagreements   between  man   and  wife? 


The  Recognition  281 

And  one  has  a  delicacy  about  offering  her  com- 
fort. She  must  bestow  her  confidence  on  me 
before  I  can  use  it ;  while  he " 

"  While  he,  as  the  cause  of  the  disease,  is  what 
you  ought  to  treat;  and  not  her  unhappiness, 
which  is  only  a  symptom  of  it." 

"  Spoken  like  a  wise  doctor :  but  to  tell  you  the 
the  truth,  Thurnall,  I  have  no  influence  over  Mr. 
Vavasour,  and  see  no  means  of  getting  any.  If  he 
recognized  my  authority,  as  his  parish  priest,  then 
I  should  see  my  way.  Let  him  be  as  bad  as  he 
might,  I  should  have  a  fixed  point  from  which  to 
work ;  but  with  his  free-thinking  notions,  I  know 
well  —  one  can  judge  it  too  easily  from  his  poems 
—  he  would  look  on  me  as  a  pedant  assuming  a 
spiritual  tyranny  to  which  I  have  no  claim." 

Tom  sat  awhile  nursing  his  knee,  and  then : 

"  If  you  saw  a  man  fallen  into  the  water,  what 
do  you  think  would  be  the  shortest  way  to  prove 
to  him  that  you  had  authority  from  Heaven  to  pull 
him  out?  Do  you  give  it  up?  Pulling  him  out, 
would  it  not  be,  without  more  ado?" 

"  I  should  be  happy  enough  to  pull  poor 
Vavasour  out,  if  he  would  let  me.  But  till  he 
believes  that  I  can  do  it,  how  can  I  even  begin?  " 

"  How  can  you  expect  him  to  believe,  if  he  has 
no  proof?  " 

"  There  are  proofs  enough  in  the  Bible  and  else- 
where, if  he  will  but  accept  them.  If  he  refuses  to 
examine  into  the  credentials,  the  fault  is  his,  not 
mine.  I  really  do  not  wish  to  be  hard:  but 
would  not  you  do  the  same,  if  any  one  refused  to 
employ  you,  because  he  chose  to  deny  that  you 
were  a  legally  qualified  practitioner?" 

"  Not  so  badly  put ;  but  what  should  I  do  in 


282  Two  Years  Ago 

that  case?  Go  on  quietly  curing  his  neighbors, 
till  he  began  to  alter  his  mind  as  to  my  qualifica- 
tions, and  came  in  to  be  cured  himself.  But 
here 's  this  difference  between  you  and  me.  I 
am  not  bound  to  attend  to  any  one  who  don't 
send  for  me;  while  you  think  that  you  are,  and 
carry  the  notion  a  little  too  far,  for  I  expect  you 
to  kill  yourself  by  it  some  day." 

"Well?"  said  Frank,  with  something  of  that 
lazy  Oxford  tone,  which  is  intended  to  save  the 
speaker  the  trouble  of  giving  his  arguments,  when 
he  has  already  made  up  his  mind,  or  thinks  that 
he  has  so  done. 

"  Well,  if  I  thought  myself  bound  to  doctor  the 
man,  willy-nilly,  as  you  do,  I  would  certainly  go  to 
him,  and  show  him,  at  least,  that  I  understood  his 
complaint.  That  would  be  the  first  step  towards 
letting  me  cure  him.  How  else  on  earth  do  you 
fancy  that  Paul  cured  those  Corinthians  about 
whom  I  have  been  reading  lately?  " 

"  Are  you,  too,  going  to  quote  Scripture  against 
me  ?  I  am  glad  to  find  that  your  studies  extend  to 
St.  Paul." 

"  To  tell  you  the  truth,  your  sermon  last  Sunday 
puzzled  me.  I  could  not  comprehend  (on  your 
showing)  how  Paul  got  that  wonderful  influence 
over  those  pagans  which  he  evidently  had;  and 
as  how  to  get  influence  is  a  very  favorite  study  of 
mine,  I  borrowed  the  book  when  I  went  home, 
and  read  for  myself;  and  the  matter  at  last 
seemed  clear  enough,  on  Paul's  own  showing." 

"  I  don't  doubt  that ;  but  I  suspect  your  inter- 
pretation of  the  fact  and  mine  would  not  agree." 

"  Mine  is  simple  enough.  He  says  that  what 
proved  him  to  be  an  apostle  was  his  power.  He  is 


The  Recognition  283 

continually  appealing  to  his  power ;  and  what  can 
he  mean  by  that,  but  that  he  could  do,  and  had 
done,  what  he  professed  to  do  ?  He  promised  to 
make  those  poor  heathen  rascals  of  Greeks  better, 
and  wiser,  and  happier  men ;  and,  I  suppose,  he 
made  them  so;  and  then  there  was  no  doubt  of 
his  commission,  or  his  authority,  or  anything  else. 
He  says  himself  he  did  not  require  any  credentials, 
for  they  were  his  credentials,  read  and  known  of 
every  one ;  he  had  made  good  men  of  them  out  of 
bad  ones,  and  that  was  proof  enough  whose  apostle 
he  was." 

"  Well,"  said  Frank,  half  sadly,  "  I  might  say  a 
great  deal,  of  course,  on  the  other  side  of  the 
question,  but  I  prefer  hearing  what  you  laymen 
think  about  it  all." 

"  Will  you  be  angry  if  I  tell  you  honestly?" 

"  Did  you  ever  find  me  angry  at  anything  you 
said?" 

"  No.  I  will  do  you  the  justice  to  say  that. 
Well,  what  we  laymen  say  is  this.  If  the  parsons 
have  the  authority  of  which  they  boast,  why  don't 
they  use  it?  If  they  have  commission  to  make 
bad  people  good,  they  must  have  power  too ;  for 
He  whose  commission  they  claim  is  not  likely, 
I  should  suppose,  to  set  a  man  to  do  what  he 
cannot  do." 

"  And  we  can  do  it  if  people  would  but  submit 
to  us.  It  all  comes  round  again  to  the  same 
point" 

"  So  it  does.  How  to  get  them  to  listen.  I 
tried  to  find  out  how  Paul  achieved  that  first 
step ;  and  when  I  looked  he  told  me  plainly 
enough.  By  becoming  all  things  to  all  men; 
by  showing  these  people  that  he  understood 
Vol.  10— M 


284  Two  Years  Ago 

them,  and  knew  what  was  the  matter  with  them. 
Now  do  you  go  and  do  likewise  by  Vavasour,  and 
then  exercise  your  authority  like  a  practical  man. 
If  you  have  power  to  bind  and  loose,  as  you  told 
us  last  Sunday,  bind  that  fellow's  ungovernable 
temper,  and  loose  him  from  the  real  slavery  which 
he  is  in  to  his  miserable  conceit  and  self-indul- 
gence !  and  then,  if  he  does  not  believe  in  your 
'  sacerdotal  power,'  he  is  even  a  greater  fool  than 
I  take  him  for." 

"  Honestly,  I  will  try :  God  help  me,"  added 
Frank,  in  a  lower  voice ;  "  but  as  for  quarrels 
between  man  and  wife,  as  I  told  you,  no  one 
understands  them  less  than  I." 

"  Then  marry  a  wife  yourself  and  quarrel  a  little 
with  her  for  experiment,  and  then  you  '11  know  all 
about  it." 

Frank  laughed  in  spite  of  himself. 

"  Thank  you.  No  man  is  less  likely  to  try  that 
experiment  than  I." 

"  Hum !  " 

"  I  have  quite  enough  as  a  bachelor  to  distract 
me  from  my  work,  without  adding  to  them  those 
of  a  wife  and  family,  and  those  little  home  lessons 
in  the  frailty  of  human  nature,  in  which  you  advise 
me  to  copy  Mr.  Vavasour." 

"  And  so,"  said  Tom,  "  having  to  doctor  human 
beings,  nineteen-twentieths  of  whom  are  married ; 
and  being  aware  that  three  parts  of  the  miseries  of 
human  life  come  either  from  wanting  to  be  mar- 
ried, or  from  married  cares  and  troubles  —  you 
think  that  you  will  improve  your  chance  of  doc- 
toring your  flock  rightly  by  avoiding  carefully  the 
least  practical  acquaintance  with  the  chief  cause  of 
their  disease.  Philosophical  and  logical,  truly  1 " 


The  Recognition  285 

"  You  seem  to  have  acquired  a  little  knowledge 
of  men  and  women,  my  good  friend,  without  en- 
cumbering yourself  with  a  wife  and  children." 

"  Would  you  like  to  go  to  the  same  school  to 
which  I  went?"  asked  Thurnall,  with  a  look  of 
such  grave  meaning  that  Frank's  pure  spirit  shud- 
dered within  him.  ."  And  I  '11  tell  you  this ;  when- 
ever I  see  a  woman  nursing  her  baby,  or  a  father 
with  his  child  upon  his  knees,  I  say  to  myself — 
they  know  more,  at  this  minute,  of  human  nature, 
as  of  the  great  law  of  '  C'esf  I 'amour,  r amour, 
V amour,  which  makes  the  world  go  round/  than  J 
am  likely  to  do  for  many  a  day.  I  '11  tell  you  what, 
sir !  These  simple  natural  ties,  which  are  common 
to  us  and  the  dumb  animals  —  as  I  live,  sir !  they 
are  the  divinest  things  I  see  in  the  world  !  I  have 
but  one,  and  that  is  love  to  my  poor  old  father ; 
that 's  all  the  religion  I  have  as  yet :  but  I  tell  you 
it  alone  has  kept  me  from  being  a  ruffian  and  a 
blackguard.  And  I'll  tell  you  more,"  said  Tom, 
warming,  "  of  all  diabolical  dodges  for  preventing 
the  parsons  from  seeing  who  they  are,  or  what 
human  beings  are,  or  what  their  work  in  the  world 
is,  or  anything  else,  the  neatest  is  that  celibacy  of 
the  clergy.  I  should  like  to  have  you  with  me  in 
Spanish  America,  or  in  France  either,  and  see 
what  you  thought  of  it  then.  How  it  ever  came 
into  mortal  brains  is  to  me  the  puzzle.  I  Ve  often 
fancied,  when  I  Ve  watched  those  priests —  and  very 
good  fellows,  too,  some  of  them  are — that  there  must 
be  a  devil  after  all  abroad  in  the  world,  as  you  say; 
for  no  human  insanity  could  ever  have  hit  upon  so 
complete  and  cute  a  device  for  making  parsons  do 
the  more  harm,  the  more  good  they  try  to  do.  There, 
I  Ve  preached  you  a  sermon,  and  made  you  angry." 


286  Two  Years  Ago 

"  Not  in  the  least :  but  I  must  go  now  and  see 
some  sick." 

"  Well,  go,  and  prosper ;  only  recollect  that  the 
said  sick  are  men  and  women." 

And  away  Tom  went,  thinking  to  himself: 
"  Well,  that  is  a  noble,  straightforward,  honest 
fellow,  and  will  do  yet,  if  he  '11  only  get  a  wife. 
He  is  not  one  of  those  asses  who  have  made  up 
their  minds  by  book  that  the  world  is  square,  and 
won't  believe  it  to  be  round  for  any  ocular  dem- 
onstration. He  '11  find  out  what  shape  the  world 
is  before  long,  and  behave  as  such,  and  act 
accordingly." 

Little  did  Tom  think  as  he  went  home  that  day 
in  full-blown  satisfaction  with  his  sermon  to  Frank, 
of  the  misery  he  had  caused,  and  was  going  to 
cause  for  many  a  day,  to  poor  Grace  Harvey.  It 
was  a  rude  shock  to  her  to  find  herself  thus  sus- 
pected; though  perhaps  it  was  one  which  she 
needed.  She  had  never,  since  one  first  trouble 
ten  years  ago,  known  any  real  grief;  and  had 
therefore  had  all  the  more  time  to  make  a  luxury 
of  unreal  ones.  She  was  treated  by  the  simple 
folk  around  her  as  all  but  inspired;  and  being 
possessed  of  real  powers  as  miraculous  in  her  own 
eyes  as  those  which  were  imputed  to  her  were  in 
theirs  (for  what  are  real  spiritual  experiences  but 
daily  miracles?),  she  was  just  in  that  temper  of 
mind  in  which  she  required,  as  ballast,  all  her  real 
goodness,  lest  the  moral  balance  should  topple 
headlong  after  the  intellectual,  and  the  downward 
course  of  vanity,  excitement,  deception,  blasphe- 
mous assumptions,  be  entered  on.  Happy  for  her 
that  she  was  in  Protestant  and  common-sense 
England,  and  in  a  country  parish,  where  mesmer- 


The  Recognition  287 

ism  and  spirit-rapping  were  unknown.  Had  she 
been  an  American,  she  might  have  become  one  of 
the  most  lucrative  "  mediums ;  "  had  she  been  born 
in  a  Romish  country,  she  would  have  probably 
become  an  even  more  famous  personage.  There 
is  no  reason  why  she  should  not  have  equalled,  or 
surpassed,  the  ecstasies  of  St.  Theresa,  or  of  St. 
Hildegardis,  or  any  other  sweet  dreamer  of  sweet 
dreams;  have  founded  a  new  order  of  charity, 
have  enriched  the  clergy  of  a  whole  province,  and 
have  died  in  seven  years,  maddened  by  alternate 
paroxysms  of  self-conceit  and  revulsions  of  self- 
abasement.  Her  own  preachers  and  class-leaders, 
indeed  (so  do  extremes  meet),  would  not  have 
been  sorry  to  make  use  of  her  in  somewhat  the 
same  manner,  however  feebly  and  coarsely;  but 
her  innate  self-respect  and  modesty  had  preserved 
her  from  the  snares  of  such  clumsy  poachers ;  and 
more  than  one  good-looking  young  preacher  had 
fled  desperately  from  a  station  where,  instead  of 
making  a  tool  of  Grace  Harvey,  he  could  only 
madden  his  own  foolish  heart  with  love  for  her. 

So  Grace  had  reigned  upon  her  pretty  little 
throne  of  not  unbearable  sorrows,  till  a  real  and 
bitter  woe  came ;  one  which  could  not  be  hugged 
and  cherished,  like  the  rest;  on  which  she  tried 
to  fling  from  her  angrily,  scornfully,  and  found  to 
her  horror  that,  instead  of  her  possessing  it,  it 
possessed  her,  and  coiled  Itself  round  her  heart, 
and  would  not  be  flung  away.  She  —  she,  of  all 
beings,  to  be  suspected  as  a  thief,  and  by  the  very 
man  whose  1  fe  she  had  saved !  She  was  willing 
enough  to  confess  herself — and  confessed  herself 
night  and  morning  —  a  miserable  sinner,  and  her 
heart  a  cage  of  unclean  birds,  deceitful,  and  de» 


288  Two  Years  Ago 

perately  wicked  —  except  in  that.  The  conscious 
innocence  flashed  up  in  pride  and  scorn,  in 
thoughts,  even  when  she  was  alone,  in  words,  of 
which  she  would  not  have  believed  herself  capable. 
With  hot  brow  and  dry  eyes,  she  paced  her  little 
chamber,  sat  down  on  the  bed,  staring  into  vacancy, 
sprang  up  and  paced  again ;  but  she  went  into  no 
trance — she  dare  not.  The  grief  was  too  great; 
she  felt  that,  if  she  once  gave  way  enough  to  lose 
her  self-possession,  she  should  go  mad.  And  the 
first,  and  perhaps  not  the  least  good  effect  of  that 
fiery  trial  was,  that  it  compelled  her  to  a  stern 
self-restraint,  to  which  her  will,  weakened  by  men- 
tal luxuriousness,  had  been  long  a  stranger. 

But  a  fiery  trial  it  was.  That  first  wild  (and  yet 
not  unnatural)  fancy,  that  Heaven  had  given  Thur- 
nall  to  her,  had  deepened  day  by  day  by  the  mere 
indulgence  of  it.  But  she  never  dreamt  of  him  as 
her  husband :  only  as  a  friendless  stranger  to  be 
helped  and  comforted.  And  that  he  was  worthy 
of  help,  that  some  great  future  was  in  store  for 
him,  that  he  was  a  chosen  vessel  marked  out  for 
glory,  she  had  persuaded  herself  utterly ;  and  the 
persuasion  grew  in  her  day  by  day,  ?s  she  heard 
more  and  more  of  his  cleverness,  honesty,  and 
kindliness,  mysterious  and,  to  her,  miraculous 
learning.  Therefore  she  did  not  mak  haste ;  she 
did  not  even  try  to  see  him,  or  to  sp  ak  to  him ;  a 
civil  bow  in  passing  was  all  that  she  took  or  gave ; 
and  she  was  content  with  that,  and  waited  till  the 
time  came  when  she  was  destined  to  do  for  him  — 
what  she  knew  not ;  but  it  would  be  done  if  she 
were  strong  enough.  So  she  set  herself  to  learn, 
and  read,  and  trained  her  mind  and  temper  more 
earnestly  than  ever,  and  waited  in  patience  for 


The  Recognition  289 

God's  good  time.  And  now,  behold,  a  black, 
unfathomable  gulf  of  doubt  and  shame  had  opened 
between  them,  perhaps  for  ever.  And  a  tumult 
arose  in  her  soul,  which  cannot  be,  perhaps  ought 
not  to  be,  analyzed  in  words ;  but  which  made  her 
know  too  well,  by  her  own  crimson  cheeks,  that 
it  was  none  other  than  human  love  strong  as  death, 
and  jealousy  cruel  as  the  grave. 

At  last  long  and  agonizing  prayer  brought 
gentler  thoughts,  and  mere  physical  exhaustion  a 
calmer  mood.  How  wicked  she  had  been;  how 
rebellious !  Why  not  forgive  him,  as  One  greater 
than  she  had  forgiven  ?  It  was  ungrateful  of  him ; 
but  was  he  not  human  ?  Why  should  she  expect 
his  heart  to  be  better  than  hers?  Besides,  he 
might  have  excuses  for  his  suspicion.  He  might 
be  the  best  judge,  being  a  man,  and  such  a  clever 
one  too.  Yes ;  it  was  God's  cross,  and  she  would 
bear  it ;  she  would  try  and  forget  him.  No ;  that 
was  impossible ;  she  must  hear  of  him,  if  not  see 
him,  day  by  day ;  besides,  was  not  her  fate  linked 
up  with  his  ?  And  yet  shut  out  from  him  by  that 
dark  wall  of  suspicion !  It  was  very  bitter.  But 
she  could  pray  for  him ;  she  would  pray  for  him 
now.  Yes;  it  was  God's  cross,  and  she  would 
bear  it.  He  would  right  her  if  He  thought  fit; 
and  if  not,  what  matter?  Was  she  not  born  to 
sorrow?  Should  she  complain  if  another  drop, 
and  that  the  bitterest  of  all,  was  added  to  the  cup  ? 

And  bear  her  cross  she  did,  about  with  her, 
coming  in,  and  going  out,  for  many  a  weary  day. 
There  was  no  change  in  her  habits  or  demeanor ; 
she  was  never  listless  for  a  moment  in  her  school ; 
she  was  more  gay  and  amusing  than  ever,  when  she 
gathered  her  little  ones  around  her  for  a  story; 


290  Two  Years  Ago 

but  still  there  was  the  unseen  burden,  grinding  her 
heart  slowly,  till  she  felt  as  if  every  footstep  was 
stained  with  a  drop  of  her  heart's  blood.  .  .  .  Why 
not?  It  would  be  the  sooner  over. 

Then,  at  times  came  that  strange  woman's  pleas- 
ure in  martyrdom,  the  secret  pride  of  suffering 
unjustly;  but  even  that,  after  a  while,  she  cast 
away  from  her  as  a  snare,  and  tried  to  believe  that 
she  deserved  all  her  sorrow  —  deserved  it,  that  is, 
in  the  real  honest  sense  of  the  word ;  that  she  had 
worked  it  out,  and  earned  it,  and  brought  it  on 
herself — how,  she  knew  not,  but  longed  and 
strove  to  know.  No ;  it  was  no  martyrdom.  She 
would  not  allow  herself  so  silly  a  cloak  of  pride ; 
and  she  went  daily  to  her  favorite  "Book  of 
Martyrs,"  to  contemplate  there  the  stories  of  those 
who,  really  innocent,  really  suffered  for  well-doing. 
And  out  of  that  book  she  began  to  draw  a  new 
and  a  strange  enjoyment,  for  she  soon  found  that 
her  intense  imagination  enabled  her  to  re-enact 
those  sad  and  glorious  stories  in  her  own  person ; 
to  tremble,  agonize,  and  conquer  with  those  hero- 
ines who  had  been  for  years  her  highest  ideals  — 
and  what  higher  ones  could  she  have  ?  And  many 
a  night,  after  extinguishing  the  light  and  closing 
her  eyes,  she  would  lie  motionless  for  hours  on 
her  little  bed,  not  to  sleep,  but  to  feel  with  Per- 
petua  the  wild  bull's  horns,  to  hang  with  St. 
Maura  on  the  cross,  or  lie  with  Julitta  on  the  rack, 
or  see  with  triumphant  smile,  by  Anne  Askew's 
side,  the  fire  flare  up  around  her  at  the  Smithfield 
stake,  or  to  promise,  with  dying  Dorothea,  celes- 
tial roses  to  the  mocking  youth,  whose  face  too 
often  took  the  form  of  Thurnall's ;  till  every  nerve 
quivered  responsive  to  her  fancy  in  agonies  of 


The  Recognition  291 

actual  pain,  which  died  away  at  last  into  heavy 
slumber,  as  body  and  mind  alike  gave  way  before 
the  strain.  Sweet  fool !  she  knew  not  —  how  could 
she  know?  —  that  she  might  be  rearing  in  herself 
the  seeds  of  idiocy  and  death ;  but  who  that  ap- 
plauds a  Rachel  or  a  Ristori  for  being  able  to 
make  awhile  their  souls  and  their  countenances 
the  homes  of  the  darkest  passions,  can  blame  her 
for  enacting  in  herself,  and  for  herself  alone,  inci- 
dents in  which  the  highest  and  holiest  virtue  takes 
shape  in  perfect  tragedy  ? 

But  soon  another,  and  yet  darker  cause  of  sor- 
row arose  in  her.  It  was  clear,  from  what  Willis 
had  told  her,  that  she  had  held  the  lost  belt  in  her 
hand.  The  question  was,  how  had  she  lost  it? 

Did  her  mother  know  anything  about  it?  That 
question  could  not  but  arise  in  her  mind,  though 
for  very  reverence  she  dared  not  put  it  to  her 
mother ;  and  with  it  arose  the  recollection  of  her 
mother's  strange  silence  about  the  matter.  Why 
had  she  put  away  the  subject  carelessly,  and  yet 
peevishly,  whenever  it  was  mentioned?  Yes.  Why? 

Did  her  mother  know  anything?     Was  she ? 

Grace  dared  not  pronounce  the  adjective,  even  in 
thought;  dashed  it  away  as  a  temptation  of  the 
devil;  dashed  away,  too,  the  thought  which  had 
forced  itself  on  her  too  often  already,  that  her 
mother  was  not  altogether  one  who  possessed  the 
single  eye ;  that  in  spite  of  her  deep  religious  feel- 
ing, her  assurance  of  salvation,  her  fits  of  bitter 
self-humiliation  and  despondency,  there  was  an 
inclination  to  scheming  and  intrigue,  ambition, 
covetousness ;  that  the  secrets  which  she  gained 
as  class-leader  too,  were  too  often  (Grace  could 
but  fear)  used  to  her  own  advantage ;  that  in  her 


292  Two  Years  Ago 

dealings  her  morality  was  not  above  the  average 
of  little  country  shop-keepers ;  that  she  was  apt 
to  have  two  prices;  to  keep  her  books  with  un- 
necessary carelessness  when  the  person  against 
whom  the  account  stood  was  no  scholar.  Grace 
had  more  than  once  remonstrated  in  her  gentle 
way;  and  had  been  silenced,  rather  than  satisfied, 
by  her  mother's  common-places  as  to  the  right 
of  *'  making  those  who  could  pay,  pay  for  those 
who  could  not ;  "  that  "  it  was  very  hard  to  get  a 
living,  and  the  Lord  knew  her  temptations,"  and 
"  that  God  saw  no  sin  in  His  elect,"  and  "  Christ's 
merits  were  infinite,"  and  "  Christians  always  had 
been  a  backsliding  generation ;  "  and  all  the  other 
common-places  by  which  such  people  drug  their 
consciences  to  a  degree  which  is  utterly  incred- 
ible, except  to  those  who  have  seen  it  with  their 
own  eyes,  and  heard  it  with  their  own  ears,  from 
childhood. 

Once,  too,  in  those  very  days,  some  little  mean- 
ness on  her  mother's  part  brought  the  tears  into 
Grace's  eyes,  and  a  gentle  rebuke  to  her  lips ;  but 
her  mother  bore  the  interference  less  patiently 
than  usual,  and  answered,  not  by  cant,  but  by 
counter-reproach.  "  Was  she  the  person  to  accuse 
a  poor  widowed  mother,  struggling  to  leave  her 
child  something  to  keep  her  out  of  the  workhouse? 
A  mother  that  lived  for  her,  would  die  for  her, 
sell  her  soul  for  her,  perhaps " 

And  there  Mrs.  Harvey  stopped  short,  turned 
pale,  and  burst  into  such  an  agony  of  tears  that 
Grace,  terrified,  threw  her  arms  round  her  neck 
and  entreated  forgiveness,  all  the  more  intensely 
on  account  of  those  thoughts  within  which  she 
dared  not  reveal.  So  the  storm  passed  over.  But 


The  Recognition  293 

not  Grace's  sadness.  For  she  could  not  but  see, 
with  her  clear  pure  spiritual  eye,  that  her  mother 
was  just  in  that  state  in  which  some  fearful  and 
shameful  fall  is  possible,  perhaps  wholesome.  "  She 
would  sell  her  soul  for  me?  What  if  she  have 
sold  it,  and  stopped  short  just  now,  because  she 
had  not  the  heart  to  tell  me  that  love  for  me  had 
been  the  cause?  Oh!  if  she  have  sinned  for  my 
sake  !  Wretch  that  I  am  !  Miserable  myself,  and 
bringing  misery  with  me  !  Why  was  I  ever  born? 
Why  cannot  I  die  —  and  the  world  be  rid  of  me  ?  " 
No,  she  would  not  believe  it.  It  was  a  wicked, 
horrible  temptation  of  the  devil.  She  would  rather 
believe  that  she  herself  had  been  the  thief,  tempted 
during  her  unconsciousness ;  that  she  had  hidden 
it  somewhere;  that  she  should  recollect,  confess, 
restore  all  some  day.  She  would  carry  it  to  him 
herself,  grovel  at  his  feet,  and  entreat  forgiveness. 
"  He  will  surely  forgive,  when  he  finds  that  I  was 
not  myself  when  —  that  it  was  not  altogether  my 
fault  —  not  as  if  I  had  been  waking  —  yes,  he  will 
forgive !  "  And  then  on  that  thought  followed  a 
dream  of  what  might  follow,  so  wild  that  a  moment 
after  she  had  hid  her  blushes  in  her  hands,  and 
fled  to  books  to  escape  from  thoughts. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  FIRST  INSTALMENT  OF  AN  OLD  DEBT 

WE  must  now  return  to  Elsley,  who  had 
walked  home  in  a  state  of  mind  truly  piti- 
able. He  had  been  flattering  his  soul  with  the 
hope  that  Thurnall  did  not  know  him;  that  his 
beard,  and  the  change  which  years  had  made, 
formed  a  sufficient  disguise;  but  he  could  not 
conceal  from  himself  that  the  very  same  alterations 
had  not  prevented  his  recognizing  Thurnall ;  and 
he  had  been  living  for  two  months  past  in  contin- 
ual fear  that  that  would  come  which  now  had 
come. 

His  rage  and  terror  knew  no  bounds.  Fancy- 
ing Thurnall  a  merely  mean  and  self-interested 
worldling,  untouched  by  those  higher  aspirations 
which  stood  to  him  in  place  of  a  religion,  he  imag- 
ined him  making  every  possible  use  of  his  power; 
and  longed  to  escape  to  the  uttermost  ends  of  the 
earth  from  his  old  tormentor,  whom  the  very  sea 
would  not  put  out  of  the  way,  but  must  needs  cast 
ashore  at  his  very  feet,  to  plague  him  afresh. 

What  a  net  he  had  spread  around  his  own  feet 
by  one  act  of  foolish  vanity !  He  had  taken  his 
present  name,  merely  as  a  nom  de  guerre,  when 
first  he  came  to  London  as  a  penniless  and  friend- 
less scribbler.  It  would  hide  him  from  the  ridicule 
(and,  as  he  fancied,  spite)  of  Thurnall,  whom  he 
dreaded  meeting  every  time  he  walked  London 


First  Instalment  of  an  Old  Debt     295 

streets,  and  who  was  for  years,  to  his  melancholic 
and  too  intense  fancy,  his  b$te  noir,  his  Franken- 
stein's familiar.  Besides,  he  was  ashamed  of  the 
name  of  Briggs.  It  certainly  is  not  an  euphonious 
or  aristocratic  name ;  and  the  "  The  Soul's  Ago- 
nies," by  John  Briggs,  would  not  have  sounded  as 
well  as  "  The  Soul's  Agonies,"  by  Elsley  Vavasour. 
Vavasour  was  a  very  pretty  name,  and  one  of  those 
which  is  supposed  by  novelists  and  young  ladies 
to  be  aristocratic ;  why  so  is  a  puzzle ;  as  its  plain 
meaning  is  a  tenant-farmer,  and  nothing  more  nor 
less.  So  he  had  played  with  the  name  till  he 
became  fond  of  it,  and  considered  that  he  had  a 
right  to  it,  through  seven  long  years  of  weary 
struggles,  penury,  disappointment,  as  he  climbed 
the  Parnassian  Mount,  writing  for  magazines  and 
newspapers,  sub-editing  this  periodical  and  that; 
till  he  began  to  be  known  as  a  ready,  graceful, 
and  trustworthy  workman,  and  was  befriended  by 
one  kind-hearted  litterateur  after  another.  For 
in  London,  at  this  moment,  any  young  man  of  real 
power  will  find  friends  enough,  and  too  many, 
among  his  fellow-bookwrights,  and  is  more  likely 
to  have  his  head  turned  by  flattery,  than  his  heart 
crushed  by  envy.  Of  course,  whatsoever  flattery 
he  may  receive,  he  is  expected  to  return;  and 
whatsoever  clique  he  may  be  tossed  into  on  his 
&but,  he  is  expected  to  stand  by,  and  fight  for, 
against  the  universe;  but  that  is  but  fair.  If  a 
young  gentleman,  invited  to  enroll  himself  in  the 
Mutual-puffery  Society  which  meets  every  Monday 
and  Friday  in  Hatchgoose  the  publisher's  drawing- 
room,  is  willing  to  pledge  himself  thereto  in  the 
mystic  cup  of  tea,  is  he  not  as  solemnly  bound 
thenceforth  to  support  those  literary  Catilines  in 


296  Two  Years  Ago 

their  efforts  for  the  subversion  of  common  sense, 
good  taste,  and  established  things  in  general,  as  if 
he  had  pledged  them,  as  he  would  have  done  in 
Rome  of  old,  in  his  own  life-blood  ?  Bound  he  is, 
alike  by  honor  and  by  green  tea ;  and  it  will  be 
better  for  him  to  fulfil  his  bond.  For  if  association 
is  the  cardinal  principle  of  the  age,  will  it  not 
work  as  well  in  book-making  as  in  clothes-making? 
And  shall  not  the  motto  of  the  poet  (who  will  also 
do  a  little  reviewing  on  the  sly)  be  henceforth  that 
which  shines  triumphant  over  all  the  world,  on 
many  a  valiant  Scotchman's  shield  — 

"  Caw  me,  and  I  '11  caw  thee  "  ? 

But  to  do  John  Briggs  justice,  he  kept  his  hands, 
and  his  heart  also,  cleaner  than  most  men  do  dur- 
ing this  stage  of  his  career.  After  the  first  excite- 
ment of  novelty,  and  of  mixing  with  people  who 
could  really  talk  and  think,  and  who  freely  spoke 
out  whatever  was  in  them,  right  or  wrong,  in 
language  which  at  least  sounded  grand  and  deep, 
he  began  to  find  in  the  literary  world  about  the 
same  satisfaction  for  his  inner  life  which  he  would 
have  found  in  the  sporting  world  or  the  commercial 
world,  or  the  religious  world,  or  the  fashionable 
world,  or  any  other  world,  and  to  suspect  strongly 
that  wheresoever  a  world  is,  the  flesh  and  the  devil 
are  not  very  far  off.  Tired  of  talking  when  he 
wanted  to  think,  of  asserting  when  he  wanted  to 
discover,  and  of  hearing  his  neighbors  do  the 
same;  tired  of  little  meannesses,  envyings,  in- 
trigues, jobberies  (for  the  literary  world,  too,  has 
its  jobs),  he  had  been  for  some  time  withdrawing 
himself  from  the  Hatchgoose  soirees  into  his  own 
thoughts,  when  his  "  Soul's  Agonies  "  appeared, 


First  Instalment  of  an  Old  Debt     297 

and  he  found  himself,  if  not  a  lion,  at  least  a  lion's 
cub. 

There  is  a  house  or  two  in  town  where  you  may 
meet,  on  certain  evenings,  everybody;  where 
duchesses  and  unfledged  poets,  bishops  and  red 
republican  refugees,  fox-hunting  noblemen  and 
briefless  barristers  who  have  taken  to  politics,  are 
jumbled  together  for  a  couple  of  hours,  to  make 
what  they  can  out  of  each  other,  to  the  exceeding 
benefit  of  them  all.  For  each  and  every  one  of 
them  finds  his  neighbor  a  pleasanter  person  than 
he  expected ;  and  none  need  leave  those  rooms 
without  knowing  something  more  than  he  did 
when  he  came  in,  and  taking  an  interest  in  some 
human  being  who  may  need  that  interest.  To 
one  of  these  houses,  no  matter  which,  Elsley  was 
invited  on  the  strength  of  the  "  Soul's  Agonies  ;  " 
found  himself,  for  the  first  time,  face  to  face  with 
high-bred  Englishwomen ;  and  fancied  —  small 
blame  to  him  —  that  he  was  come  to  the  moun- 
tains of  the  Peris,  and  to  Fairy  Land  itself.  He 
had  been  flattered  already:  but  never  with  such 
grace,  such  sympathy,  or  such  seeming  under- 
standing; for  there  are  few  high-bred  women  who 
cannot  seem  to  understand,  and  delude  a  hapless 
genius  into  a  belief  in  their  own  surpassing  bril- 
liance and  penetration,  while  they  are  cunningly 
retailing  again  to  him  the  thoughts  which  they 
have  caught  up  from  the  man  to  whom  they  spoke 
last ;  perhaps  —  for  this  is  the  very  triumph  of 
their  art  —  from  the  very  man  to  whom  they  are 
speaking.  Small  blame  to  bashful,  clumsy  John 
Briggs,  if  he  did  not  know  his  own  children ;  and 
could  not  recognize  his  own  stammered  and  frag- 
mentary fancies,  when  they  were  re-echoed  to  him 


298  Two  Years  Ago 

the  next  minute,  in  the  prettiest  shape,  and  with 
the  most  delicate  articulation,  from  lips  which 
(like  those  in  the  fairy  tale)  never  opened  without 
dropping  pearls  and  diamonds. 

Oh,  what  a  contrast,  in  the  eyes  of  a  man  whose 
sense  of  beauty  and  grace,  whether  physical  or 
intellectual,  was  true  and  deep,  to  that  ghastly  ring 
of  prophetesses  in  the  Hatchgoose  drawing-room ; 
strong-minded  and  emancipated  women,  who  prided 
themselves  on  having  cast  off  conventionalities, 
and  on  being  rude,  and  awkward,  and  dogmatic, 
and  irreverent,  and  sometimes  slightly  improper; 
women  who  had  missions  to  mend  everything  in 
heaven  and  earth,  except  themselves;  who  had 
quarrelled  with  their  husbands,  and  had  therefore 
felt  a  mission  to  assert  women's  rights,  and  reform 
marriage  in  general ;  or  who  had  never  been  able 
to  get  married  at  all,  and  therefore  were  especially 
competent  to  promulgate  a  model  method  of  edu- 
cating the  children  whom  they  never  had  had; 
women  who  wrote  poetry  about  Lady  Blanches 
whom  they  never  had  met,  and  novels  about  male 
and  female  blackguards  whom  (one  hopes)  they 
never  had  met,  or  about  whom  (if  they  had) 
decent  women  would  have  held  their  peace ;  and 
every  one  of  whom  had,  in  obedience  to  Emerson, 
"  followed  her  impulses,"  and  despised  fashion, 
and  was  accordingly  clothed  and  bedizened  as 
was  right  in  the  sight  of  her  own  eyes,  and  prob- 
ably in  those  of  no  one  else. 

No  wonder  that  Elsley,  ere  long,  began  drawing 
comparisons,  and  using  his  wit  upon  ancient 
patronesses,  of  course  behind  their  backs,  likening 
them  to  idols  fresh  from  the  car  of  Juggernaut,  or 
from  the  stern  of  a  South-sea  canoe ;  or,  most  of 


First  Instalment  of  an  Old  Debt     299 

all,  to  that  famous  wooden  image  of  Freya,  which 
once  leapt  lumbering  forth  from  her  bullock-cart, 
creaking  and  rattling  in  every  oaken  joint,  to  be- 
labor the  too  daring  Viking  who  was  flirting  with 
her  priestess.  Even  so,  whispered  Elsley,  did 
those  brains  and  tongues  creak  and  rattle,  lumber- 
ing before  the  blasts  of  Pythonic  inspiration ;  and 
so,  he  verily  believed,  would  the  awkward  arms 
and  legs  have  done  likewise,  if  one  of  the 
Pythonesses  had  ever  so  far  degraded  herself  as 
to  dance. 

No  wonder,  then,  that  those  gifted  dames  had 
soon  to  complain  of  Elsley  Vavasour  as  a  traitor  to 
the  cause  of  progress  and  civilization ;  a  renegade 
who  had  fled  to  the  camp  of  aristocracy,  flunkey- 
dom,  obscurantism,  frivolity,  and  dissipation; 
though  there  was  not  one  of  them  but  would  have 
given  an  eye  —  perhaps  no  great  loss  to  the  aggre- 
gate loveliness  of  the  universe  —  for  one  of  his  in- 
vitations to  999  Cavendish  Street,  Southeast,  with 
the  chance  of  being  presented  to  the  Duchess  of 
Lyonesse. 

To  do  Elsley  justice,  one  reason  why  he  liked 
his  new  acquaintances  so  well  was,  that  they  liked 
him.  He  behaved  well  himself,  and  therefore 
people  behaved  well  to  him.  He  was,  as  I  have 
said,  a  very  handsome  fellow  in  his  way ;  therefore 
it  was  easy  to  him,  as  it  is  to  all  physically  beauti- 
ful persons,  to  acquire  a  graceful  manner.  More- 
over, he  had  steeped  his  whole  soul  in  old  poetry, 
and  especially  in  Spenser's  "Faerie  Queene."  Good 
for  him,  had  he  followed  every  lesson  which  he 
might  have  learnt  out  of  that  most  noble  of  Eng- 
lish books :  but  one  lesson  at  least  he  learnt  from 
it;  and  that  was,  to  be  chivalrous,  tender,  and 


300  Two  Years  Ago 

courteous  to  all  women,  however  old  or  ugly, 
simply  because  they  were  women.  The  Hatch- 
goose  Pythonesses  did  not  wish  to  be  women,  but 
very  bad  imitations  of  men ;  and  therefore  he  con- 
sidered himself  absolved  from  all  knightly  duties 
toward  them:  but  toward  these  Peris  of  the  West, 
and  to  the  dowagers  who  had  been  Peris  in  their 
time,  what  adoration  could  be  too  great?  So  he 
bowed  down  and  worshipped ;  and,  on  the  whole, 
he  was  quite  right  in  so  doing.  Moreover,  he  had 
the  good  sense  to  discover  that  though  the  young 
Peris  were  the  prettiest  to  look  at,  the  elder  Peris 
were  the  better  company :  and  that  it  is,  in  gen- 
eral, from  married  women  that  a  poet  or  any  one 
else  will  ever  learn  what  woman's  heart  is  like. 
And  so  well  did  he  carry  out  his  creed,  that  before 
his  first  summer  was  over  he  had  quite  captivated 
the  heart  of  old  Lady  Knockdown,  aunt  to  Lucia 
St.  Just,  and  wife  to  Lucia's  guardian ;  a  charming 
old  Irishwoman,  who  affected  a  pretty  brogue, 
perhaps  for  the  same  reason  that  she  wore  a  wig, 
and  who  had  been,  in  her  day,  a  beauty  and  a 
blue,  a  friend  of  the  Miss  Berrys,  and  Tommy 
Moore,  and  Grattan,  and  Lord  Edward  Fitz- 
gerald, and  Dan  O'Connell,  and  all  other  lions  and 
lionesses  which  had  roared  for  the  last  sixty  years 
about  the  Emerald  Isle.  There  was  no  one  whom 
she  did  not  know,  and  nothing  she  could  not  talk 
about.  Married  up,  when  a  girl,  to  a  man  for 
whom  she  did  not  care,  and  having  no  children, 
she  had  indemnified  herself  by  many  flirtations, 
and  the  writing  of  two  or  three  novels,  in  which 
she  penned  on  paper  the  superfluous  feeling  which 
had  no  vent  in  real  life.  She  had  deserted,  as  she 
grew  old,  the  novel  for  unfulfilled  prophecy ;  and 


First  Instalment  of  an  Old  Debt     301 

was  a  distinguished  leader  in  a  distinguished  reli- 
gious coterie:  but  she  still  prided  herself  upon 
having  a  green  head  upon  gray  shoulders,  and  not 
without  reason ;  for  underneath  all  the  worldliness 
and  intrigue,  and  petty  affectation  of  girlishness, 
which  she  contrived  to  jumble  in  with  her  re- 
ligiosity, beat  a  young  and  kindly  heart.  So  she 
was  charmed  with  Mr.  Vavasour's  manners,  and 
commended  them  much  to  Lucia,  who,  a  shrink- 
ing girl  of  seventeen,  was  peeping  at  her  first 
season  from  under  Lady  Knockdown's  sheltering 
wing. 

"  Me  dear,  let  Mr.  Vavasour  be  who  he  will,  he 
has  not  only  the  intellect  of  a  true  genius,  but 
what  is  a  great  deal  better  for  practical  purposes ; 
that  is,  the  manners  of  one.  Give  me  the  man 
who  will  let  a  woman  of  our  rank  say  what  we  like 
to  him,  without  supposing  that  he  may  say  what 
he  likes  in  return ;  and  considers  one's  familiarity 
as  an  honor,  and  not  as  an  excuse  for  taking 
liberties.  A  most  agreeable  contrast,  indeed,  to 
the  young  men  of  the  present  day ;  who  come  in 
their  shooting  jackets,  and  talk  slang  to  their  part- 
ners —  though  really  the  girls  are  just  as  bad  — 
and  stand  with  their  backs  to  the  fire,  and  smell  of 
smoke,  and  go  to  sleep  after  dinner,  and  pay  no 
respect  to  old  age,  nor  to  youth  either,  I  think. 
Ton  me  word,  Lucia,  the  answers  I've  heard 
young  gentlemen  make  to  young  ladies,  this  very 
season — they'd  have  been  called  out  the  next 
morning  in  my  time,  me  dear.  As  for  the  age  of 
chivalry,  nobody  expects  that  to  be  restored :  but 
really  one  might  have  been  spared  the  substitute 
for  it  which  we  had  when  I  was  young,  in  the 
grand  air  of  the  old  school.  It  was  a  '  sham,'  I 


302  Two  Years  Ago 

dare  say,  as  they  call  everything  nowadays:  but 
really,  me  dear,  a  pleasant  sham  is  better  to  live 
with  than  an  unpleasant  reality,  especially  when  it 
smells  of  cigars." 

So  it  befell  that  Elsley  Vavasour  was  asked  to 
Lady  Knockdown's,  and  that  there  he  fell  in  love 
with  Lucia,  and  Lucia  fell  in  love  with  him. 

The  next  winter  old  Lord  Knockdown,  who  had 
been  decrepit  for  some  years  past,  died;  and  his 
widow,  whose  income  was  under  five  hundred  a 
year  —  for  the  estates  were  entailed,  and  mort- 
gaged, and  everything  else  which  can  happen  to 
an  Irish  property  —  came  to  live  with  her  nephew, 
Lord  Scoutbush,  in  Eaton  Square,  and  take  such 
care  as  she  could  of  Lucia  and  Valentia. 

So,  after  a  dreary  autumn  and  winter  of  parting 
and  silence,  Elsley  found  himself  the  next  season 
invited  to  Eaton  Square;  there  the  mischief,  if 
mischief  it  was,  was  done ;  and  Elsley  and  Lucia 
started  in  life  upon  two  hundred  a  year.  He  had 
inherited  some  fifty  of  his  own ;  she  had  about  a 
hundred  and  fifty,  which,  indeed,  was  not  yet  her 
own  by  right ;  but  little  Scoutbush  (who  was  her 
sole  surviving  guardian)  behaved  on  the  whole 
very  well  for  a  young  gentleman  of  twenty-two,  in 
a  state  of  fury  and  astonishment.  The  old  lord 
had,  wisely  enough,  settled  in  his  will  that  Lucia 
was  to  enjoy  the  interest  of  her  fortune  from  the 
time  that  she  came  out,  provided  she  did  not 
marry  without  her  guardian's  leave;  and  Scout- 
bush,  to  avoid  esclandre  and  misery,  thought  it 
as  well  to  waive  the  proviso,  and  paid  her  her 
dividends  as  usual. 

But  how  had  she  contrived  to  marry  at  all  with- 
out his  leave  ?  That  is  an  ugly  question.  I  will 


First  Instalment  of  an  Old  Debt     303 

not  say  that  she  had  told  a  falsehood,  or  that 
Elsley  had  forsworn  himself  when  he  got  the 
license;  but  certainly  both  of  them  were  guilty 
of  something  very  like  a  white  lie,  when  they  de- 
clared that  Lucia  had  the  consent  of  her  sole  sur- 
viving guardian,  on  the  strength  of  a  half-angry, 
half-jesting  expression  of  Scoutbush's,  that  she 
might  marry  whom  she  chose,  provided  she  did 
not  plague  him.  In  the  first  triumph  of  success 
and  intoxication  of  wedded  bliss,  Lucia  had  written 
him  a  saucy  letter,  reminding  him  of  his  permis- 
sion, and  saying  that  she  had  taken  him  at  his 
word :  but  her  conscience  smote  her ;  and  Elsley's 
smote  him  likewise ;  and  smote  him  all  the  more, 
because  he  had  been  married  under  a  false  name,  a 
fact  which  might  have  ugly  consequences  in  law 
which  he  did  not  like  to  contemplate.  To  do  him 
justice,  he  had  been,  half  a  dozen  times  during  his 
courtship,  on  the  point  of  telling  Lucia  his  real 
name  and  history.  Happy  for  him  had  he  done 
so,  whatever  might  have  been  the  consequences; 
but  he  wanted  moral  courage ;  the  hideous  sound 
of  Briggs  had  become  horrible  to  him ;  and  once 
his  foolish  heart  was  frightened  away  from  honesty, 
just  as  honesty  was  on  the  point  of  conquering,  by 
old  Lady  Knockdown's  saying  that  she  could  never 
have  married  a  man  with  an  ugly  name,  or  let 
Lucia  marry  one. 

"  Conceive  becoming  Mrs.  Natty  Bumppo,  me 
dear,  even  for  twenty  thousand  a  year.  If  you 
could  summon  up  courage  to  do  the  deed,  I 
could  n't  summon  up  courage  to  continue  my  cor- 
respondence with  ye." 

Elsley  knew  that  that  was  a  lie;  that  the  old 
lady  would  have  let  her  marry  the  most  triumphant 


304  Two  Years  Ago 

snob  in  England,  if  he  had  half  that  income ;  but 
unfortunately  Lucia  capped  her  aunt's  nonsense 
with  "  There  is  no  fear  of  my  ever  marrying  any 
one  who  has  not  a  graceful  name,"  and  a  look  at 
Vavasour,  which  said,  "And  you  have  one,  and 

therefore  I "    For  the  matter  had  then  been 

settled  between  them.  This  was  too  much  for  his 
vanity,  and  too  much,  also,  for  his  fears  of  losing 
Lucia  by  confessing  the  truth.  So  Elsley  went 
on,  ashamed  of  his  real  name,  ashamed  of  having 
concealed  it,  ashamed  of  being  afraid  that  it  would 
be  discovered  —  in  a  triple  complication  of  shame, 
which  made  him  gradually,  as  it  makes  every  man, 
moody,  suspicious,  apt  to  take  offence  where  none 
is  meant.  Besides,  they  were  very  poor.  He, 
though  neither  extravagant  nor  profligate,  was, 
like  most  literary  men  who  are  accustomed  to  live 
from  hand  to  mouth,  careless,  self-indulgent,  un- 
methodical. She  knew  as  much  of  housekeeping 
as  the  Queen  of  Oude  does;  and  her  charming 
little  dreams  of  shopping  for  herself  were  rudely 
enough  broken,  ere  the  first  week  was  out,  by  the 
horrified  looks  of  Clara,  when  she  returned  from 
her  first  morning's  marketing  for  the  weekly  con- 
sumption, with  nothing  but  a  woodcock,  some 
truffles,  and  a  bunch  of  celery.  Then  the  landlady 
of  the  lodgings  robbed  her,  even  under  the  nose 
of  the  faithful  Clara,  who  knew  as  little  about 
housekeeping  as  her  mistress;  and  Clara,  faithful 
as  she  was,  repaid  herself  by  grumbling  and  taking 
liberties  for  being  degraded  from  the  luxurious 
post  of  lady's  maid  to  that  of  servant  of  all  work, 
with  a  landlady  and  "  marchioness "  to  wrestle 
with  all  day  long.  Then,  what  with  imprudence 
and  anxiety,  Lucia  of  course  lost  her  first  child ; 


First  Instalment  of  an  Old  Debt     305 

and  after  that  came  months  of  illness,  during 
which  Elsley  tended  her,  it  must  be  said  for  him, 
as  lovingly  as  a  mother;  and  perhaps  they  were 
both  really  happier  during  that  time  of  sorrow 
than  they  had  been  in  all  the  delirious  bliss  of  the 
honeymoon. 

Valentia  meanwhile  defied  old  Lady  Knockdown 
(whose  horror  and  wrath  knew  no  bounds),  and 
walked  off  one  morning  with  her  maid  to  see  her 
prodigal  sister ;  a  visit  which  not  only  brought  com- 
fort to  the  weary  heart,  but  important  practical 
benefits.  For  going  home,  she  seized  upon  Scout- 
bush,  and  so  moved  his  heart  with  pathetic  pictures 
of  Lucia's  unheard-of  penury  and  misery,  that  his 
heart  was  softened;  and  though  he  absolutely 
refused  to  call  on  Vavasour,  he  made  him  an  offer, 
through  Lucia,  of  Penalva  Court  for  the  time 
being;  and  thither  they  went  —  perhaps  the  best 
thing  they  could  have  done. 

There,  of  course,  they  were  somewhat  more 
comfortable.  A  very  cheap  country,  a  comfort- 
able house  rent  free,  and  a  lovely  neighborhood, 
were  a  pleasant  change,  after  dear  London  lodg- 
ings; but  it  is  a  question  whether  the  change 
made  Elsley  a  better  man. 

In  the  first  place,  he  became  a  more  idle  man. 
The  rich  enervating  climate  began  to  tell  upon  his 
mind,  as  it  did  upon  Lucia's  health.  He  missed 
that  perpetual  spur  of  nervous  excitement,  change 
of  society,  influx  of  ever-fresh  objects,  which 
makes  London,  after  all,  the  best  place  in  the 
world  for  hard  working;  and  which  makes  even 
a  walk  along  the  streets  an  intellectual  tonic.  In 
the  soft  and  luxurious  West-country,  nature  invited 
him  to  look  at  her,  and  dream ;  and  dream  he  did, 


306  Two  Years  Ago 

more  and  more,  day  by  day.  He  was  tired,  too  — 
as  who  would  not  be  ?  —  of  the  drudgery  of  writing 
for  his  daily  bread ;  and  relieved  from  the  impor- 
tunities of  publishers  and  printers'  devils,  he  sent 
tip  fewer  and  fewer  contributions  to  the  magazines. 
He  would  keep  his  energies  for  a  great  work; 
poetry  was,  after  all,  his  forte ;  he  would  not  fritter 
himself  away  on  prose  and  periodicals,  but  would 
win  for  himself,  etc.  etc.  If  he  made  a  mistake,  it 
was  at  least  a  pardonable  one. 

But  Elsley  became  not  only  a  more  idle,  but  a 
more  morose  man.  He  began  to  feel  the  evils  of 
solitude.  There  was  no  one  near  with  whom  he 
could  hold  rational  converse,  save  an  antiquarian 
parson  or  two ;  and  parsons  were  not  to  his  taste. 
So,  never  measuring  his  wits  against  those  of  his 
peers,  and  despising  the  few  men  whom  he  met  as 
inferior  to  himself,  he  grew  more  and  more  wrapt 
up  in  his  own  thoughts  and  his  own  tastes.  His 
own  poems,  even  to  the  slightest  turn  of  expres- 
sion, became  more  and  more  important  to  him. 
He  grew  more  jealous  of  criticism,  more  confident 
in  his  own  little  theories,  about  this  and  that,  more 
careless  of  the  opinion  of  his  fellow-men,  and,  as  a 
certain  consequence,  more  unable  to  bear  the  little 
crosses  and  contradictions  of  daily  life;  and  as 
Lucia,  having  brought  one  and  another  child  safely 
into  the  world,  settled  down  into  motherhood,  he 
became  less  and  less  attentive  to  her,  and  more 
and  more  attentive  to  that  self  which  was  fast 
becoming  the  center  of  his  universe. 

True,  there  were  excuses  for  him ;  for  whom  are 
there  none?  He  was  poor  and  struggling;  and  it 
is  much  more  difficult  (as  Becky  Sharp,  I  think, 
pathetically  observes)  to  be  good  when  one  is  poor 


First  Instalment  of  an  Old  Debt     307 

than  when  one  is  rich.  It  is  (and  all  rich  people 
should  consider  the  fact)  much  more  easy,  if  not 
to  go  to  heaven,  at  least  to  think  one  is  going 
thither,  on  three  thousand  a  year,  than  on  three 
hundred.  Not  only  is  respectability  more  easy,  as 
is  proved  by  the  broad  fact  that  it  is  the  poor  peo- 
ple who  fill  the  jails,  and  not  the  rich  ones;  but 
virtue,  and  religion  —  of  the  popular  sort.  It  is 
undeniably  more  easy  to  be  resigned  to  the  will  of 
Heaven,  when  that  will  seems  tending  just  as  we 
would  have  it ;  much  more  easy  to  have  faith  in 
the  goodness  of  Providence,  when  that  goodness 
seems  safe  in  one's  pocket  in  the  form  of  bank- 
notes ;  and  to  believe  that  one's  children  are  under 
the  protection  of  Omnipotence,  when  one  can  hire 
for  them  in  half  an  hour  the  best  medical  advice  in 
London.  One  need  only  look  into  one's  own  heart 
to  understand  the  disciples'  astonishment  at- the 
news  that  "  How  hardly  shall  they  that  have  riches 
enter  into  the  kingdom  of  heaven." 

"  Who  then  can  be  saved  ?  "  asked  they,  being 
poor  men,  accustomed  to  see  the  wealthy  Pharisees 
in  possession  of  "  the  highest  religious  privileges, 
and  means  of  grace."  Who,  indeed,  if  not  the  rich? 
If  the  noblemen,  and  the  bankers,  and  the  dow- 
agers, and  the  young  ladies  who  go  to  church,  and 
read  good  books,  and  have  been  supplied  from 
youth  with  the  very  best  religious  articles  which 
money  can  procure,  and  have  time  for  all  manner 
of  good  works,  and  give  their  hundreds  to  chari- 
ties, and  head  reformatory  movements,  and  build 
churches,  and  work  altar-cloths,  and  can  taste  all 
the  preachers  and  father-confessors  round  London, 
one  after  another,  as  you  would  taste  wines,  till 
they  find  the  spiritual  panacea  which  exactly  suits 

Vol.  10— N 


308  Two  Years  Ago 

their  complaint  —  if  they  are  not  sure  of  salvation, 
who  can  be  saved? 

Without  further  comment,  the  fact  is  left  for  the 
consideration  of  all  readers ;  only  let  them  not  be 
too  hard  upon  Elsley  and  Lucia,  if,  finding  them- 
selves sometimes  literally  at  their  wits'  end,  they 
went  beyond  their  poor  wits  into  the  region  where 
foolish  things  are  said  and  done. 

Moreover,  Elsley's  ill-temper  (as  well  as  Lucia's) 
had  its  excuses  in  physical  ill-health.  Poor  fellow ! 
Long  years  of  sedentary  work  had  begun  to  tell 
upon  him ;  and  while  Tom  Thurnall's  chest,  under 
the  influence  of  hard  work  and  oxygen,  measured 
round  perhaps  six  inches  more  than  it  had  done 
sixteen  years  ago,  Elsley's,  thanks  to  stooping  and 
carbonic  acid,  measured  six  inches  less.  Short 
breath,  lassitude,  loss  of  appetite,  heartburn,  and 
all  that  fair  company  of  miseries  which  Mr.  Cockle 
and  his  antibilious  pills  profess  to  cure,  are  no 
cheering  bosom  friends ;  but  when  a  man's  breast- 
bone is  gradually  growing  into  his  stomach,  they 
will  make  their  appearance ;  and  small  blame  to 
him  whose  temper  suffers  from  their  gentle  hints 
that  he  has  a  mortal  body  as  well  as  an  immortal 
soul. 

But  most  fretting  of  all  was  the  discovery  that 
Lucia  knew  —  if  not  all  about  his  original  name  — 
still  enough  to  keep  him  in  dread  lest  she  should 
learn  more. 

It  was  now  twelve  months  and  more  that  this 
new  terror  had  leapt  up  and  stared  in  his  face. 
He  had  left  a  letter  about  —  a  thing  which  he  was 
apt  to  do  —  in  which  the  Whitbury  lawyer  made 
some  allusions  to  his  little  property ;  and  he  was 
sure  that  Lucia  had  seen  it.  The  hated  name  of 


First  Instalment  of  an  Old  Debt     309 

Briggs  certainly  she  had  not  seen ;  for  Elsley  had 
torn  it  out  the  moment  he  opened  the  letter ;  but . 
she  had  seen  enough,  as  he  soon  found,  to  be  cer- 
tain that  he  had,  at  some  time  or  other,  passed 
under  a  different  name. 

If  Lucia  had  been  a  more  thoughtful  or  high- 
minded  woman,  she  would  have  gone  straight  to 
her  husband,  and  quietly  and  lovingly  asked  him 
to  tell  her  all ;  but  in  her  left-handed  Irish  fashion, 
she  kept  the  secret  to  herself,  and  thought  it  a  very 
good  joke  to  have  him  in  her  power,  and  to  be 
able  to  torment  him  about  that  letter  when  he  got 
out  of  temper.  It  never  occurred,  however,  to  her 
that  his  present  name  was  the  feigned  one.  She 
fancied  that  he  had,  in  some  youthful  escapade, 
assumed  the  name  to  which  the  lawyer  alluded. 
So  the  next  time  he  was  cross,  she  tried  laughingly 
the  effect  of  her  newly-discovered  spell ;  and  was 
horror-struck  at  the  storm  which  she  evoked.  In 
a  voice  of  thunder  Elsley  commanded  her  never  to 
mention  the  subject  again ;  and  showed  such  signs 
of  terror  and  remorse,  that  she  obeyed  him  from 
that  day  forth,  except  when  now  and  then  she  lost 
her  temper  as  completely,  too,  as  he.  Little  she 
thought,  in  her  heedlessness,  what  a  dark  cloud  of 
fear  and  suspicion,  ever  deepening  and  spreading, 
she  had  put  between  his  heart  and  hers. 

But  if  Elsley  had  dreaded  her  knowledge  of  his 
story,  he  dreaded  ten  times  more  Tom's  knowledge 
of  it.  What  if  Thurnall  should  tell  Lucia?  What 
if  Lucia  should  make  a  confidant  of  Thurnall? 
Women  told  their  doctors  everything;  and  Lucia, 
he  knew  too  well,  had  cause  to  complain  of  him. 
Perhaps,  thought  he,  maddened  into  wild  suspicion 
by  the  sense  of  his  own  wrong-doing,  she  might 


3 TO  Two  Years  Ago 

complain  of  him;  she  might  combine  with  Thur- 
hall  against  him  —  for  what  purpose  he  knew  not ; 
but  the  wildest  imaginations  flashed  across  him,  as 
he  hurried  desperately  home,  intending  as  soon  as 
he  got  there  to  forbid  Lucia's  ever  calling  in  his 
dreaded  enemy.  No,  Thurnall  should  never  cross 
his  door  again  !  On  that  one  point  he  was  deter- 
mined, but  on  nothing  else. 

However,  his  intention  was  never  fulfilled.  For 
long  before  he  reached  home  he  began  to  feel 
himself  thoroughly  ill.  His  was  a  temperament 
upon  which  mental  anxiety  acts  rapidly  and  se- 
verely; and  the  burning  sun  and  his  rapid  walk 
combined  with  rage  and  terror  to  give  him  such  a 
"  turn "  that,  as  he  hurried  down  the  lane,  he 
found  himself  reeling  like  a  drunken  man.  He 
had  just  time  to  hurry  through  the  garden, 
and  into  his  study,  when  pulse  and  sense  failed 
him,  and  he  rolled  over  on  the  sofa  in  a  dead 
faint. 

Lucia  had  seen  him  come  in,  and  heard  him 
.fall,  and  rushed  in.  The  poor  little  thing  was  at 
her  wits'  end,  and  thought  that  he  had  had  nothing 
less  than  a  coup-de-soleil.  And  when  he  recovered 
fro/n  his  faintness,  he  began  to  be  so  horribly 
ill  that  Clara,  who  had  been  called  in  to  help, 
had  some  grounds  for  the  degrading  hypothe- 
sis (for  which  Lucia  all  but  boxed  her  ears)  that 
"  Master  had  got  away  into  the  woods,  and  gone 
eating  toadstools,  or  some  such  poisonous  stuff;  " 
for  he  lay  a  full  half-hour  on  the  sofa,  death-cold, 
and  almost  pulseless;  moaning,  shuddering,  hid- 
ing his  face  in  his  hands,  and  refusing  cordials, 
medicines,  and,  above  all,  a  doctor's  visit. 

However,   this   could   not  be   allowed   to    last 


First  Instalment  of  an  Old  Debt     311 

Without  Elsley's  knowledge,  a  messenger  was  de- 
spatched for  Thurnall,  and  luckily  met  him  in  the 
lane ;  for  he  was  returning  to  the  town  in  the  foot- 
steps of  his  victim. 

Elsley's  horror  was  complete  when  the  door 
opened,  and  Lucia  brought  in  none  other  than  his 
tormentor. 

"  My  dearest  Elsley,  I  have  sent  for  Mr.  Thur- 
nall. I  knew  you  would  not  let  me,  if  I  told  you ; 
but  you  see  I  have  done  it,  and  now  you  must 
really  speak  to  him." 

Elsley's  first  impulse  was  to  motion  them  both 
away  angrily;  but  the  thought  that  he  was  in 
Thurnall's  power  stopped  him.  He  must  not 
show  his  disgust.  What  if  Lucia  were  to  ask  its 
cause,  even  to  guess  it?  for  to  his  fears  even  that 
seemed  possible.  A  fresh  misery !  Just  because 
he  shrank  so  intensely  from  the  man,  he  must 
endure  him ! 

"  There  is  nothing  the  matter  with  me,"  said  he, 
languidly. 

"  I  should  be  the  best  judge  of  that,  after  what 
Mrs.  Vavasour  has  just  told  me,"  said  Tom,  in  his 
most  professional  and  civil  voice;  and  slipped, 
cat-like,  into  a  seat  beside  the  unresisting  poet. 

He  asked  question  on  question  ;  but  Elsley  gave 
such  unsatisfactory  answers,  that  Lucia  had  to 
detail  everything  afresh  for  him,  with  —  "  You 
know,  Mr.  Thurnall,  he  is  always  overtasking  his 
brain,  and  will  never  confess  himself  ill  "  — and  all 
a  woman's  anxious  comments. 

Rogue  Tom  knew  all  the  while  well  enough 
what  was  the  cause ;  but  he  saw,  too,  that  Elsley 
was  very  ill.  He  felt  that  he  must  have  the  matter 
out  at  once ;  and,  by  a  side  glance,  sent  the  obe- 


3 1 2  Two  Years  Ago 

dient  Lucia  out  of  the  room  to  get  a  tablespoonful 
of  brandy.  / 

"  Now,  my  dear  sir,  that  we  are  alone,"  began  he, 
blandly. 

"Now,  sir!"  answered  Vavasour,  springing  off 
the  sofa,  his  whole  pent-up  wrath  exploding  in 
hissing  steam,  the  moment  the  safety-valve  was 
lifted.  "  Now,  sir  !  What  —  what  is  the  meaning 
of  this  insolence,  this  intrusion  ?  " 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Vavasour,"  answered 
Tom,  rising,  in  a  tone  of  bland  and  stolid  surprise. 

"  What  do  you  want  here,  with  your  mummery 
and  medicine,  when  you  know  the  cause  of  my 
malady  well  enough  already !  Go,  sir !  and  leave 
me  to  myself." 

"  My  dear  sir,"  said  Tom,  firmly,  "  you  seem 
to  have  forgotten  what  passed  between  us  this 
morning." 

"  Will  you  insult  me  beyond  endurance  ?  "  cried 
Elsley. 

"  I  told  you  that,  as  long  as  you  chose,  you  were 
Elsley  Vavasour,  and  I  the  country  doctor.  We 
have  met  in  that  character.  Why  not  sustain  it? 
You  are  really  ill ;  and  if  I  know  the  cause,  I  am 
all  the  more  likely  to  know  the  cure." 

"Cure?" 

"  Why  not?  Believe  me,  it  is  in  your  power  to 
become  a  much  happier  man,  simply  by  becoming 
a  healthier  one." 

"  Impertinence !  " 

"  Pish  !  What  can  I  gain  by  being  impertinent, 
sir?  I  know  very  well  that  you  have  received  a 
severe  shock ;  but  I  know  equally  well,  that  if  you 
were  as  you  ought  to  be,  you  would  not  feel  it  in 
this  way.  When  one  sees  a  man  in  the  state  of 


First  Instalment  of  an  Old  Debt     313 

prostration  in  which  you  are,  common  sense  tells 
one  that  the  body  must  have  been  neglected,  for 
the  mind  to  gain  such  power  over  it." 

Elsley  replied  with  a  grunt ;  but  Tom  went  on, 
bland  and  imperturbable. 

"  Believe  me,  it  may  be  a  very  materialist  view 
of  things ;  but  fact  is  fact  —  the  corpus  sanum  is 
father  to  the  mens  sana  —  tonics  and  exercise 
make  the  ills  of  life  look  marvellously  smaller. 
You  have  the  frame  of  a  strong  and  active  man ; 
and  all  you  want  to  make  you  light-hearted  and 
cheerful  is  to  develop  what  nature  has  given  you." 

"  It  is  too  late,"  said  Elsley,  pleased,  as  most 
men  are,  by  being  told  that  they  might  be  strong 
and  active. 

"  Not  in  the  least.  Three  months  would 
strengthen  your  muscles,  open  your  chest  again, 
settle  your  digestion,  and  make  you  as  fresh  as  a 
lark,  and  able  to  sing  like  one.  Believe  me,  the 
poetry  would  be  the  better  for  it,  as  well  as  the 
stomach.  Now,  positively,  I  shall  begin  question- 
ing you." 

So  Elsley  was  won  to  detail  the  symptoms  of 
internal  malaise  which  he  was  only  too  much  in 
the  habit  of  watching  himself;  but  there  were 
some  among  them  which  Tom  could  not  quite 
account  for  on  the  ground  of  mere  effeminate 
habits.  A  thought  struck  him. 

"  You  sleep  ill,  I  suppose  ?  "  said  he,  carelessly. 

"Very  ill." 

"  Did  you  ever  try  opiates?" 

"  No — yes —  that  is,  sometimes." 

"  Ah !  "  said  Tom,  more  carelessly  still,  for  he 
wished  to  hide,  by  all  means,  the  importance  of  the 
confession.  "  Well,  they  give  relief  for  a  time ; 


314  Two  Years  Ago 

but  they  are  dangerous  things  —  disorder  the 
digestion,  and  have  their  revenge  on  the  nerves 
next  morning,  as  spitefully  as  brandy  itself.  Much 
better  try  a  glass  of  strong  ale  or  porter  just  before 
going  to  bed.  I  Ve  known  it  give  sleep,  even  in 
consumption  —  try  it,  and  exercise.  You  shoot?" 

"  No." 

"  Pity ;  there  ought  to  be  noble  cocking  in  these 
woods.  However,  the  season  's  past.  You  fish  ?  " 

"No." 

"  Pity  again.  I  hear  Alva  is  full  of  trout.  Why 
not  try  sailing?  Nothing  oxygenates  the  lungs 
like  a  sail,  and  your  friends  the  fishermen  would  be 
delighted  to  have  you  as  supercargo.  They  are 
always  full  of  your  stories  to  them,  and  your  pick- 
ing their  brains  for  old  legends  and  adventures." 

"  They  are  noble  fellows,  and  I  want  no  better 
company;  but,  unfortunately,  I  am  always  sea- 
sick." 

"  Ah  !  wholesome,  but  unpleasant:  you  are  fond 
of  gardening?" 

"  Very ;  but  stooping  makes  my  head  swim." 

"  True,  and  I  don't  want  you  to  stoop.  I  hope 
to  see  you  soon  as  erect  as  a  guardsman.  Why 
not  try  walks?" 

"  Abominable  bores  —  lonely,  aimless " 

"  Well,  perhaps  you  're  right.  I  never  knew  but 
three  men  who  took  long  constitutionals  on  prin- 
ciple, and  two  of  them  were  cracked.  But  why 
not  try  a  companion;  and  persuade  that  curate, 
who  needs  just  the  same  medicine  as  you,  to 
accompany  you ;  I  don't  know  a  more  gentleman- 
like, agreeable,  well-informed  man  than  he  is." 

"  Thank  you.  I  can  choose  my  acquaintances 
for  myself." 


First  Instalment  of  an  Old  Debt     315 

"  You  touchy  ass ! "  said  Thurnall  to  himself. 
"  If  we  were  in  the  blessed  state  of  nature  now, 
would  n't  I  give  you  ten  minutes'  double  thonging, 
and  then  set  you  to  work,  as  the  runaway  nigger 
did  his  master,  Birdofredum  Sawin,  till  you  'd 
learnt  a  thing  or  two."  But  blandly  still  he  went 
on. 

"Try  the  dumb-bells  then.  Nothing  like  them 
for  opening  your  chest.  And  do  get  a  high  desk 
made,  and  stand  to  your  writing  instead  of  sitting." 
And  Tom  actually  made  Vavasour  promise  to  do 
both,  and  bade  him  farewell  with : 

"  Now,  I  '11  send  you  up  a  little  tonic,  and  trouble 
you  with  no  more  visits  till  you  send  for  me.  I 
shall  see  by  one  glance  at  your  face  whether 
you  are  following  my  prescriptions.  And,  I  say,  I 
would  n't  meddle  with  those  opiates  any  more ;  try 
good  malt  and  hops  instead." 

"Those  who  drink  beer,  think  beer,"  said  Elsley, 
smiling ;  for  he  was  getting  more  hopeful  of  him- 
self, and  his  terrors  were  vanishing  beneath  Tom's 
skilful  management. 

"  And  those  who  drink  water,  think  water.  The 
Elizabethans  —  Sidney  and  Shakespeare,  Burleigh 
and  Queen  Bess,  worked  on  beef  and  ale  —  and 
you  would  not  class  them  among  the  muddle- 
headed  of  the  earth.  Believe  me,  to  write  well, 
you  must  live  well.  If  you  take  it  out  of  your 
brain,  you  must  put  it  in  again.  It 's  a  question  of 
fact.  Try  it  for  yourself."  And  off  Tom  went; 
while  Lucia  rushed  back  to  her  husband,  covered 
him  with  caresses,  assured  him  that  he  was  seven 
times  as  ill  as  he  really  was,  and  so  nursed  and 
petted  him,  that  he  felt  himself,  for  that  time  at 
least,  a  beast  and  a  fool  for  having  suspected  her 


316  Two  Years  Ago 

for  a  moment.  Ah,  woman,  if  you  only  knew  how 
you  carry  our  hearts  in  your  hands,  and  would  but 
use  your  power  for  our  benefit,  what  angels  you 
might  make  us  all ! 

"  So,"  said  Tom,  as  he  went  home,  "  he  has 
found  his  way  to  the  elevation-bottle,  has  he,  as 
well  as  Mrs.  Heale?  It's  no  concern  of  mine :  but 
as  a  professional  man,  I  must  stop  that.  You  will 
certainly  be  no  credit  to  me  if  you  kill  yourself 
under  my  hands." 

Tom  went  straight  home,  showed  the  blacksmith 
how  to  make  a  pair  of  dumb-bells,  covered  them 
himself  with  leather,  and  sent  them  up  the  next 
morning  with  directions  to  be  used  for  half  an  hour 
morning  and  evening. 

And  something  —  whether  it  was  the  dumb- 
bells, or  the  tonic,  or  wholesome  fear  of  the  terri- 
ble doctor  —  kept  Elsley  for  the  next  month  in 
better  spirits  and  temper  than  he  had  been  in  for  a 
long  while. 

Moreover,  Tom  set  Lucia  to  coax  him  into 
walking  with  Headley.  She  succeeded  at  last; 
and,  on  the  whole,  each  of  them  soon  found  that 
he  had  something  to  learn  from  the  other.  Elsley 
improved  daily  in  health,  and  Lucia  wrote  to 
Valentia  flaming  accounts  of  the  wonderful  doctor 
who  had  been  cast  on  shore  in  their  world's  end ; 
and  received  from  her  after  a  while  this,  amid 
much  more  —  for  fancy  is  not  exuberant  enough  to 
reproduce  the  whole  of  a  young  lady's  letter. 

" I  am  so  ashamed.     I  ought  to  have  told  you 

of  that  doctor  a  fortnight  ago ;  but,  rattle-pate  as  I  am, 
I  forgot  all  about  it.  Do  you  know,  he  is  Sabina 
Mellot's  dearest  friend ;  and  she  begged  me  to  recora- 


First  Instalment  of  an  Old  Debt     3 1 7 

mend  him  to  you :  but  I  put  it  off,  and  then  it  slipped 
my  memory,  like  everything  else  good.  She  has  told  me 
the  most  wonderful  stories  of  his  courage  and  goodness ; 
and  conceive  —  she  and  her  husband  were  taken  pris- 
oners with  him  by  the  savages  in  the  South  Seas,  and 
going  to  be  eaten,  she  says :  but  he  helped  them  to 
escape  in  a  canoe  —  such  a  story  —  and  lived  with  them 
for  three  months  on  the  most  beautiful  desert  island  —  it 
is  all  like  a  fairy  tale.  I  '11  tell  it  you  when  I  come,  dar- 
ling—  which  I  shall  do  in  a  fortnight,  and  we  shall  be  all 
so  happy.  I  have  such  a  box  ready  for  you  and  the 
chicks,  which  I  shall  bring  with  me  ;  and  some  pretty 
things  from  Scoutbush  besides,  who  is  very  low,  poor 
fellow,  I  cannot  conceive  what  about :  but  wonderfully 
tender  about  you.  I  fancy  he  must  be  in  love ;  for  he 
stood  up  the  other  day  about  you  to  my  aunt,  quite 
solemnly,  with,  '  Let  her  alone,  my  lady.  She  's  not  the 
first  whom  love  has  made  a  fool  of,  and  she  won't  be  the 
last :  and  I  believe  that  some  of  the  moves  which  look 
most  foolish,  turn  out  best  after  all.  Live  and  let  live ; 
everybody  knows  his  own  business  best;  anything  is 
better  than  marriage  without  real  affection.'  Conceive 
my  astonishment  at  hearing  the  dear  little  fellow  turn 
sage  in  that  way  ! 

"  By  the  way,  I  have  had  to  quote  his  own  advice 
against  him ;  for  I  have  refused  Lord  Chalkclere  after 
all.  I  told  him  (C.  not  S.) ,  that  he  was  much  too  good 
for  me ;  far  too  perfect  and  complete  a  person ;  that  I 
preferred  a  husband  whom  I  could  break  in  for  myself, 
even  though  he  gave  me  a  little  trouble.  Scoutbush 
was  cross  at  first ;  but  he  said  afterwards  that  it  was  just 
like  Baby  Blake  (the  wretch  always  calls  me  Baby 
Blake  now,  after  that  dreadful  girl  in  Lever's  novel)  ; 
and  I  told  him  frankly  that  it  was,  if  he  meant  that  I  had 
sooner  break  in  a  thorough-bred  for  myself,  even  though 
I  had  a  fall  or  two  in  the  process,  than  jog  along  on  the 


3 1 8  Two  Years  Ago 

most  finished  little  pony  on  earth,  who  would  never  go 
out  of  an  amble.  Lord  Chalkclere  may  be  very  finished, 
and  learned,  and  excellent,  and  so  forth :  but,  ma  ctere, 
I  want,  not  a  white  rabbit  (of  which  he  always  reminds 
me),  but  a  hero,  even  though  he  be  a  naughty  one.  I 
always  fancy  people  must  be  very  little  if  they  can  be 
finished  off  so  rapidly;  if  there  was  any  real  verve  in 
them,  they  would  take  somewhat  longer  to  grow.  Lord 
Chalkclere  would  do  very  well  to  bind  in  Russian 
leather,  and  put  on  one's  library  shelves,  to  be  consulted 
when  one  forgot  a  date ;  but  really  even  your  Ulysses  of 
a  doctor — provided,  of  course,  he  turned  out  a  prince 
in  disguise,  and  don't  leave  out  his  h's — would  be  more 
to  the  taste  of  your  naughtiest  of  sisters." 


CHAPTER   XII 

.-- 

A  PEER  IN  TROUBLE 

SOMEWHERE  in  those  days,  so  it  seems,  did  Mr. 
Bowie  call  unto  himself  a  cab  at  the  barrack- 
gate,  and,  dressed  in  his  best  array,  repair  to  the 
wilds  of  Brompton,  and  request  to  see  either 
Claude  or  Mrs.  Mellot. 

Bowie  is  an  ex-Scots  Fusilier,  who,  damaged  by 
the  kick  of  a  horse,  has  acted  as  valet,  first  to 
Scoutbush's  father,  and  next  to  Scoutbush  himself. 
He  is  of  a  patronizing  habit  of  mind,  as  befits  a 
tolerably  "  leeterary  "  Scotsman  of  forty-five  years 
of  age  and  six  feet  three  in  height,  who  has  full 
confidence  in  the  integrity  of  his  own  virtue,  the 
infallibility  of  his  own  opinion,  and  the  strength  of 
his  own  right  arm ;  for  Bowie,  though  he  has  a  rib 
or  two  "  dinged  in,"  is  mighty  still  as  Theseus' 
self;  and  both  astonished  his  red-bearded  com- 
patriots, and  won  money  for  his  master,  by  his 
prowess  in  the  late  feat  of  arms  at  Holland 
House. 

Mr.  Bowie  is  asked  to  walk  into  Sabina's  boudoir 
(for  Claude  is  out  in  the  garden),  to  sit  down,  and 
deliver  his  message ;  which  he  does  after  a  due 
military  salute,  sitting  bolt  upright  in  his  chair, 
and  in  a  solemn  and  sonorous  voice. 

"  Well,  madam,  it 's  just  this,  that  his  lordship 
would  be  very  glad  to  see  ye  and  Mr.  Mellot,  for 
he's  vary  ill  indeed,  and  that's  truth;  and  if  he 


320  Two  Years  Ago 

winna  tell  ye  the  cause,  then  I  will  —  and  it's 
just  a'  for  love  of  this  play-acting  body  here,  and 
more  's  the  pity." 

"  More  's  the  pity,  indeed  !  " 

"  And  it 's  my  opeenion  the  puir  laddie  will  just 
die,  if  nobody  sees  to  him ;  and  I  Ve  taken  the 
liberty  of  writing  to  Major  Cawmill  mysel',  to  beg 
him  to  come  up  and  see  to  him,  for  it 's  a  pity  to 
see  his  lordship  cast  away,  for  want  of  an  under- 
standing body  to  advise  him." 

"  So  I  am  not  an  understanding  body,  Bowie?" 

"  Oh,  madam,  ye  're  young  and  bonny,"  says 
Bowie,  in  a  tone  in  which  admiration  is  not  un- 
mingled  with  pity. 

"  Young  indeed  !  Mr.  Bowie,  do  you  know  that 
I  am  almost  as  old  as  you  ?  " 

"  Hoot,  hut,  hut "  says  Bowie,  looking  at 

the  wax-like  complexion  and  bright  hawk-eyes. 

"  Really  I  am.  I  'm  past  five-and-thirty  this 
many  a  day." 

"  Weel,  then,  madam,  if  you  '11  excuse  me, 
ye  're  old  enough  to  be  wiser  than  to  let  his  lord- 
ship be  inveigled  with  any  such  play-acting." 

"  Really  he  's  not  inveigled,"  says  Sabina,  laugh- 
ing. "  It  is  all  his  own  fault,  and  I  have  warned 
him  how  absurd  and  impossible  it  is.  She  has 
refused  even  to  see  him ;  and  you  know  yourself 
he  has  not  been  near  our  house  for  these  three 
weeks." 

"  Ah,  madam,  you  '11  excuse  me :  but  that 's 
the  way  with  that  sort  of  people,  just  to  draw 
back  and  draw  back,  to  make  a  poor  young 
gentleman  follow  them  all  the  keener,  as  a  trout 
does  a  minnow,  the  faster  you  spin  it." 

"  I  assure  you  no.     I  can't  let  you  into  ladies' 


A  Peer  in  Trouble  321 

secrets :  but  there  is  no  more  chance  of  her  listen- 
ing to  him  than  of  me.  And  as  for  me,  I  have 
been  trying  all  the  spring  to  marry  him  to  a  young 
lady  with  eighty  thousand  pounds;  so  you  can't 
complain  of  me.". 

"  Eh?     No.     That 's  more  like  and  fitting." 

"  Well,  now.  Tell  his  lordship  that  we  are  com- 
ing; and  trust  us,  Mr.  Bowie :  we  do  not  look  very 
villainous,  do  we?" 

"Faith,  'deed  then,  and  I  suppose  not,"  said 
Bowie,  using  the  verb  which,  in  his  cautious,  Scot- 
tish tongue,  expresses  complete  certainty.  The 
truth  is,  that  Bowie  adores  both  Sabina  and  her 
husband,  who  are,  he  says,  "just  fit  to  be  put 
under  a  glass  case  on  the  sideboard,  like  twa  wee 
china  angels." 

In  half  an  hour  they  were  in  Scoutbush's  rooms. 
They  found  the  little  man  lying  on  his  sofa  in  his 
dressing-gown,  looking  pale  and  pitiable  enough. 
He  had  been  trying  to  read ;  for  the  table  by  him 
was  covered  with  books :  but  either  gunnery  and 
mathematics  had  injured  his  eyes,  or  he  had  been 
crying;  Sabina  inclined  to  the  latter  opinion. 

"  This  is  very  kind  of  you  both ;  but  I  don't 
want  you,  Claude.  I  want  Mrs.  Mellot.  You  go 
to  the  window  with  Bowie." 

Bowie  and  Claude  shrugged  their  shoulders  at 
each  other,  and  departed. 

"  Now,  Mrs.  Mellot,  I  can't  help  looking  up  to 
you  as  a  mother." 

"  Complimentary  to  my  youth,"  says  Sabina, 
who  always  calls  herself  young  when  she  is  called 
old,  and  old  when  she  is  called  young. 

"  I  did  n't  mean  to  be  rude.  But  one  does  long 
to  open  one's  heart.  I  never  had  any  mother  to 


322  Two  Years  Ago 

talk  to,  you  know ;  and  I  can't  tell  my  aunt ;  and 
Valentia  is  so  flighty;  and  I  thought  you  would 
give  me  one  chance  more.  Don't  laugh  at  me,  I 
say.  I  am  really  past  laughing  at." 

"  I  see  you  are,  you  poor  creature,"  says  Sabina, 
melting;  and  a  long  conversation  follows,  while 
Claude  and  Bowie  exchange  confidences,  and 
arrive  at  no  result  beyond  the  undeniable  asser- 
tion, "it  is  a  very  bad  job." 

Presently  Sabina  comes  out,  and  Scoutbush 
calls  cheerfully  from  the  sofa  : 

"  Bowie,  get  my  bath  and  things  to  dress ;  and 
order  me  the  cab  in  half  an  hour.  Good-bye,  you 
dear  people,  I  shall  never  thank  you  enough." 

Away  go  Claude  and  Sabina  in  a  hack-cab. 

"  What  have  you  done?  " 

"Given  him  what  he  entreated  for — another 
chance  with  Marie." 

"  It  will  only  madden  him  all  the  more.  Why 
let  him  try,  when  you  know  it  is  hopeless  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  had  not  the  heart  to  refuse,  that 's  the 
truth;  and  besides,  I  don't  know  that  it  is  hope- 
less." 

"  All  the  naughtier  of  you,  to  let  him  run  the 
chance  of  making  a  fool  of  himself." 

"  I  don't  know  that  he  will  make  such  a  great 
fool  of  himself.  As  he  says,  his  grandfather  mar- 
ried an  actress,  and  why  should  not  he  ?  " 

"  Simply  because  she  won't  marry  him." 

"And  how  do  you  know  that,  sir?  You  fancy 
that  you  understand  all  the  women's  hearts  in 
England,  just  because  you  have  found  out  the 
secret  of  managing  one  little  fool." 

"  Managing  her,  quotha !  Being  managed  by 
her,  till  my  quiet  house  is  turned  into  a  perfect 


A  Peer  in  Trouble  323 

volcano  of  match-making.  Why,  I  thought  he 
was  to  marry  Manchestrina." 

"He  shall  marry  who  he  likes;  and  if  Marie 
changes  her  mind,  and  revenges  herself  on  this 
American  by  taking  Lord  Scoutbush,  all  I  can  say 
is,  it  will  be  a  just  judgment  on  him.  I  have  no 
patience  with  the  heartless  fellow,  going  off  thus, 
and  never  even  leaving  his  address." 

"  And  because  you  have  no  patience,  you  think 
Marie  will  have  none?" 

"What  do  you  know  about  women's  hearts? 
Leave  us  to  mind  our  own  matters." 

"  Mr.  Bowie  will  kill  you  outright,  if  your  plot 
succeeds." 

"  No,  he  won't.  I  know  who  Bowie  wants  to 
marry ;  and  if  he  is  not  good,  he  sha'n't  have  her. 
Besides,  it  will  be  such  fun  to  spite  old  Lady 
Knockdown,  who  always  turns  up  her  nose  at  me. 
How  mad  she  will  be !  Here  we  are  at  home. 
Now,  I  shall  go  and  prepare  Marie." 

An  hour  after,  Scoutbush  was  pleading  his  cause 
with  Marie;  and  had  been  met,  of  course,  at 
starting,  with  the  simple  rejoinder  : 

"  But,  my  lord,  you  would  not  surely  have  me 
marry  where  I  do  not  love  ?  " 

"  Oh,  of  course  not ;  but,  you  see,  people  very 
often  get  love  after  they  are  married :  and  I  am 
sure  I  would  do  all  to  make  you  love  me.  I  know 
I  can't  bribe  you  by  promising  you  carriages  and 
jewels,  and  all  that:  but  you  should  have  what 
you  would  like  —  pictures,  and  statues,  and  books 
—  and  all  that  I  can  buy.  Oh,  madam,  I  know  I 
am  not  worthy  of  you  —  I  never  have  had  any 
education  as  you  have !  " 

Marie  smiled  a  sad  smile. 


324  Two  Years  Ago 

"  But  I  would  learn  —  I  know  I  could  —  for  I 
am  no  fool,  though  I  say  it :  I  like  all  that  sort  of 
thing,  and  —  and  if  I  had  you  to  teach  me,  I  should 
care  about  nothing  else.  I  have  given  up  all  my 
nonsense  since  I  knew  you ;  indeed  I  have  —  I  am 
trying  all  day  long  to  read  —  ever  since  you  said 
something  about  being  useful,  and  noble,  and 
doing  one's  work:  I  have  never  forgotten  that, 
madam,  and  never  shall ;  and  you  would  find  me 
a  pleasant  person  to  live  with,  I  do  believe.  At 
all  events,  I  would  —  oh,  madam  —  I  would  be 
your  servant,  your  dog  —  I  would  fetch  and  carry 
for  you  like  a  negro  slave  !  " 

Marie  turned  pale,  and  rose. 

"Listen  to  me,  my  lord;  this  must  end.  You 
do  not  know  to  whom  you  are  speaking.  You  talk 
of  negro  slaves.  Know  that  you  are  talking  to 
one ! " 

Scoutbush  looked  at  her  in  blank  astonishment. 

"Madam?    Excuse  me:  but  my  own  eyes " 

"  You  are  not  to  trust  them ;  I  tell  you  fact." 

Scoutbush  was  silent.  She  misunderstood  his 
silence :  but  went  on  steadily. 

"  I  tell  you,  my  lord,  what  I  expect  you  to 
keep  secret;  and  I  know  that  I  can  trust  your 
honor." 

Scoutbush  bowed. 

"  And  what  I  should  never  have  told  you,  were 
it  not  my  only  chance  of  curing  you  of  this  foolish 
passion.  I  am  an  American  slave !  " 

"  Curse  them  !  Who  dared  make  you  a  slave?  " 
cried  Scoutbush,  turning  as  red  as  a  game-cock. 

"  I  was  born  a  slave.  My  father  was  a  white 
gentleman  of  good  family:  my  mother  was  a  quad- 
Toon  ;  and  therefore  I  am  a  slave ;  —  a  negress,  a 


A  Peer  in  Trouble  325 

runaway  slave,  my  lord,  who,  if  I  returned  to 
America,  should  be  seized,  and  chained,  and 
scourged,  and  sold.  Do  you  understand  me  ?  " 

"  What  an  infernal  shame  !  "  cried  Scoutbush,  to 
whom  the  whole  thing  appeared  simply  as  a  wrong 
done  to  Marie. 

"Well,  my  lord?" 

"Well,  madam?" 

"  Does  not  this  fact  put  the  question  at  rest  for 
ever?" 

"  No,  madam  !  What  do  I  know  about  slaves  ? 
No  one  is  a  slave  in  England.  No,  madam;  all 
that  it  does  is  to  make  me  long  to  cut  half  a  dozen 

fellows'  throats "  and  Scoutbush  stamped  with 

rage.  "  No,  madam,  you  are  you :  and  if  you 
become  my  viscountess,  you  take  my  rank,  I  trust, 
and  my  name  is  yours,  and  my  family  yours ;  and 
let  me  see  who  dare  interfere !  " 

"  But  public  opinion,  my  lord  ?  "  said  Marie,  half- 
pleased,  half-terrified  to  find  the  shaft  which  she 
had  fancied  fatal  fall  harmless  at  her  feet. 

"  Public  opinion !  You  don't  know  England, 
madam  !  What 's  the  use  of  my  being  a  peer,  if  I 
can't  do  what  I  like,  and  make  public  opinion  go  my 
way,  and  not  I  its?  Though  I  am  no  great  prince, 
madam,  but  only  a  poor  Irish  viscount,  it 's  hard  if 
I  can't  marry  whom  I  like  —  in  reason,  that  is  — 
and  expect  all  the  world  to  call  on  her,  and  treat 
her  as  she  deserves.  Why,  madam,  you  will  have 
all  London  at  your  feet  after  a  season  or  two,  and 
all  the  more  if  they  know  your  story :  or  if  you 
don't  like  that,  or  if  fools  did  talk  at  first,  why, 
we'd  go  and  live  quietly  at  Kilanbaggan,  or  at 
Penalva,  and  you  'd  have  all  the  tenants  looking 
up  to  you  as  a  goddess,  as  I  do,  madam.  O 


326  Two  Years  Ago 

madam,  I  would  go  anywhere,  live  anywhere,  only 
to  be  with  you  !  " 

Marie  was  deeply  affected.  Making  all  allow- 
ances for  the  wilfulness  of  youth,  she  could  not  but 
see  that  her  origin  formed  no  bar  whatever  to  her 
marrying  a  nobleman;  and  that  he  honestly  be- 
lieved that  it  would  form  none  in  the  opinion  of 
his  compeers,  if  she  proved  herself  worthy  of  his 
choice;  and,  full  of  new  emotions,  she  burst  into 
tears. 

"There,  now,  you  are  melting:  I  knew  you 
would  !  Madam  !  Signora !  "  and  Scoutbush  ad- 
vanced to  take  her  hand. 

"  Never  less,"  cried  she,  drawing  back.  "  Do 
not ;  you  only  make  me  miserable !  I  tell  you  it 
is  impossible.  I  cannot  tell  you  all.  You  must 
not  do  yourself  and  yours  such  an  injustice  I  Go, 
I  tell  you  !  " 

Scoutbush  still  tried  to  take  her  hand. 

"  Go,  I  entreat  you,"  cried  she,  at  her  wits'  end, 
"  or  I  will  really  ring  the  bell  for  Mrs.  Mellot !  " 

"  You  need  not  do  that,  madam,"  said  he,  draw- 
ing himself  up ;  "I  am  not  in  the  habit  of  being 
troublesome  to  ladies,  or  being  turned  out  of 

drawing-rooms.  I  see  how  it  is "  and  his  tone 

softened ;  "  you  despise  me,  and  think  me  a  vain, 
frivolous  puppy.  Well ;  I  '11  do  something  yet 
that  you  shall  not  despise  !  "  And  he  turned  to 

go- 

"  I  do  not  despise  you ;  I  think  you  a  generous, 

high-hearted  gentleman  —  nobleman  in  all  senses." 

Scoutbush  turned  again. 

"  But,  again,  imposs;ble  !  I  shall  always  respect 
you ;  but  we  must  never  meet  again." 

She  held  out  her  hand.     Little  Freddy  caught 


A  Peer  in  Trouble  327 

and  kissed  it  till  he  was  breathless,  and  then  rushed 
out,  and  blundered  over  Sabina  in  the  next  room. 

"No  hope?" 

"  None."  And  though  he  tried  to  squeeze  his 
eyes  together  very  tight,  the  great  tears  would 
come  dropping  down. 

Sabina  took  him  to  a  sofa,  and  sat  him  down 
while  he  made  his  little  moan. 

"  I  told  you  that  she  was  in  love  with  the 
American." 

"Then  why  don't  he  come  back  and  marry  her? 
Hang  him,  I  '11  go  after  him  and  make  him  !  "  cried 
Scoutbush,  glad  of  any  object  on  which  to  vent  his 
wrath. 

"  You  can't,  for  nobody  knows  where  he  is.  Now 
do  be  good  and  patient;  you  will  forget  all 
this." 

"Isha'n't!" 

"  You  will ;  not  at  first,  but  gradually ;  and 
marry  some  one  really  more  fit  for  you." 

"  Ah,  but  if  I  marry  her  I  sha'n't  love  her ;  and 
then,  you  know,  Mrs.  Mellot,  I  shall  go  to  the  bad 
again,  just  as  much  as  ever.  Oh,  I  was  trying  to 
be  steady  for  her  sake ! " 

41  You  can  be  that  still." 

"  Yes,  but  it's  so  hard,  with  nothing  to  hope  for. 
I  'm  not  fit  to  take  care  of  myself.  I  'm  fit  for 
nothing,  I  believe,  but  to  go  out  and  be  shot  by 
those  Russians :  and  I  '11  do  it !  " 

"  You  must  not ;  you  are  not  strong  enough. 
The  doctors  would  not  let  you  go  as  you  are." 

"  Then  I  '11  get  strong ;  I  '11 " 

"  You  '11  go  home,  and  be  good." 

"Ain't  I  good  now?" 

"  Yes,  you  are  a  good,  sensible  fellow,  and  have 


328  Two  Years  Ago 

behaved  nobly,  and  I  honor  you  for  it,  and  Claude 
shall  come  and  see  you  every  day." 

That  evening  a  note  came  from  Scoutbush. 

"  DEAR  MRS.  MELLOT  —  Whom  should  I  find  when  I 
went  home  but  Campbell  ?  I  told  him  all ;  and  he  says 
that  you  and  everybody  have  done  quite  right,  so  I  sup- 
pose you  have ;  and  that  I  am  quite  right  in  trying  to 
get  out  to  the  East,  so  I  shall  do  it.  But  the  doctor  says 
I  must  rest  for  six  weeks  at  least.  So  Campbell  has  per- 
suaded me  to  take  the  yacht,  which  is  at  Southampton, 
and  go  down  to  Aberalva,  and  then  round  to  Snowdon, 
where  I  have  a  little  slate-quarry,  and  get  some  fishing. 
Campbell  is  coming  with  me,  and  I  wish  Claude  would 
come  too.  He  knows  that  brother-in-law  of  mine, 
Vavasour,  I  think,  and  I  shall  go  and  make  friends  with 
him.  I  've  got  very  merciful  to  foolish  lovers  lately,  and 
Claude  can  help  me  to  face  him ;  for  I  am  a  little  afraid 
of  geniuses,  you  know.  So  there  we  '11  pick  up  my  sister 
(she  goes  down  by  land  this  week),  and  then  go  on  to 
Snowdon ;  and  Claude  can  visit  his  old  quarters  at  the 
Royal  Oak  at  Bettws,  where  he  and  I  had  that  jolly  week 
among  the  painters.  Do  let  him  come,  and  beg  La 
Signora  not  to  be  angry  with  me.  That 's  all  I  '11  ever 
ask  of  her  again." 

"  Poor   fellow !      But    I   can't    part  with  you, 

Claude." 

"  Let   him,"   said   La   Cordifiamma.     "  He  will 

comfort  his  lordship :  and  do  you  come  with  me." 
"  Come  with  you  ?     Where  ?  " 
"  I  will  tell  you  when  Claude  is  gone." 
"  Claude,  go  and  smoke  in  the  garden.    Now?" 
"  Come  with  me  to  Germany,  Sabina." 
"  To  Germany?     Why  on  earth  to  Germany?  " 
"I  —  I  only  said  Germany  because  it  came  first 


A  Peer  in  Trouble  329 

into  my  mind.  Anywhere  for  rest;  anywhere  to 
be  out  of  that  poor  man's  way." 

"  He  will  not  trouble  you  any  more ;  and  you 
will  not  surely  throw  up  your  engagement?" 

"  Of  course  not !  "  said  she,  half  peevishly.  "  It 
will  be  over  in  a  fortnight;  and  then  I  must  have 
rest.  Don't  you  see  how  I  want  rest?" 

Sabina  had  seen  it  for  some  time  past.  That 
white  cheek  had  been  fading  more  and  more  to  a 
wax-like  paleness ;  those  black  eyes  glittered  with 
fierce  unhealthy  light;  and  dark  rings  round  them 
told,  not  merely  of  late  hours  and  excitement,  but 
of  wild  passion  and  midnight  tears.  Sabina  had 
seen  all,  and  could  not  but  give  way,  as  Marie 
went  on. 

"  I  must  have  rest,  I  tell  you  !  I  am  beginning 
—  I  can  confess  all  to  you  —  to  want  stimulants. 
I  am  beginning  to  long  for  brandy-and-water  — 
pah  !  —  to  nerve  me  up  to  the  excitement  of  act- 
ing, and  then  for  morphine  to  make  me  sleep  after 
it.  The  very  eau  de  cologne  flask  tempts  me ! 
They  say  that  the  fine  ladies  use  it,  before  a  ball, 
for  other  purposes  than  scent.  You  would  not 
like  to  see  me  commence  that  practice,  would 
you  ?  " 

"  There  is  no  fear,  dear." 

"  There  is  fear !  You  do  not  know  the  craving 
for  exhilaration,  the  capability  of  self-indulgence, 
in  our  wild  Tropic  blood.  Oh,  Sabina,  I  feel  at 
times  that  I  could  sink  so  low  —  that  I  could  be  so 
wicked,  so  utterly  wicked,  if  I  once  began !  Take 
me  away,  dearest  creature,  take  me  away,  and  let 
me  have  fresh  air,  and  fair  quiet  scenes,  and  rest  — 
rest — oh,  save  me,  Sabina!"  and  she  put  her 
hands  over  her  face,  and  burst  into  tears. 


3 30  Two  Years  Ago 

"We  will  go,  then:  to  the  Rhine,  shall  it  be? 
I  have  not  been  there  now  for  these  three  years, 
and  it  will  be  such  fun  running  about  the  world  by 
myself  once  more,  and  knowing  all  the  while  that 
-  "  and  Sabina  stopped ;  she  did  not  like  to  re- 
mind Marie  of  the  painful  contrast  between  them. 

"To  the  Rhine?  Yes.  And  I  shall  see  the 
beautiful  old  world,  the  old  vineyards,  and  castles, 
and  hills  which  he  used  to  tell  me  of —  taught  me 
to  read  of  in  those  sweet,  sweet  books  of  Long- 
fellow's 1  So  gentle,  and  pure,  and  calm  —  so 
unlike  me ! " 

"  Yes,  we  will  see  them ;  and  perhaps " 

Marie  looked  up  at  her,  guessing  her  thoughts, 
and  blushed  scarlet. 

"You  too,  think  then,  that  —  that "  she 

could  not  finish  her  sentence. 

Sabina  stooped  over  her,  and  the  two  beautiful 
mouths  met. 

"  There,  darling,  we  need  say  nothing.  We  are 
both  women,  and  can  talk  without  words." 

"  Then  you  think  there  is  hope  ?  " 

"  Hope  ?  Do  you  fancy  that  he  is  gone  so  very 
far?  or  that  if  he  were,  I  could  not  hunt  him  out? 
Have  I  wandered  half  round  the  world  alone  for 
nothing?" 

"  No,  but  hope  —  hope  that " 

"  Not  hope,  but  certainty ;  if  some  one  I  know 
had  but  courage." 

"  Courage  —  to  do  what?  " 

"  To  trust  him  utterly." 

Marie  covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  and 
shuddered  in  every  limb. 

"  You  know  my  story.  Did  I  gain  or  lose  by 
telling  my  Claude  all?" 


A  Peer  in  Trouble  331 

"  I  will ! "  she  cried,  looking  up  pale  but  firm. 
"  I  will !  "  and  she  looked  steadfastly  into  the  mir- 
ror over  the  chimney-piece,  as  if  trying  to  court 
the  reappearance  of  that  ugly  vision  which  haunted 
it,  and  so  to  nerve  herself  to  the  utmost,  and  face 
the  whole  truth. 

In  little  more  than  a  fortnight,  Sabina  and  Marie, 
with  maid  and  courier  (for  Marie  was  rich  now), 
were  away  in  the  old  Antwerpen.  And  Claude 
was  rolling  down  to  Southampton  by  rail,  with 
Campbell,  Scoutbush,  and  last,  but  not  least,  the 
faithful  Bowie ;  who  had  under  his  charge  what  he 
described  to  the  puzzled  railway  guard  as  "  goads 
and  cleiks,  and  pirns  and  creels,  and  beuks  and 
heuks,  enough  for  a'  the  cods  o'  Neufundland." 


Vol.  10—0 


CHAPTER  XIII 
L'HOMME  INCOMPRIS 

TTLSLEY  went  on,  between  improved  health 
I  ^  and  the  fear  of  Tom  Thurnall,  a  good  deal 
better  for  the  next  month.  He  began  to  look  for- 
ward to  Valentia's  visit  with  equanimity,  and,  at 
last,  with  interest;  and  was  rather  pleased  than 
otherwise  when,  in  the  last  week  of  July,  a  fly 
drove  up  to  the  gate  of  old  Penalva  Court,  and 
he  handed  out  therefrom  Valentia,  and  Valentia's 
maid. 

Lucia  had  discovered  that  the  wind  was  east, 
and  that  she  was  afraid  to  go  to  the  gate  for  fear 
of  catching  cold;  her  real  purpose  being  that 
Valentia  should  meet  Elsley  first. 

"She  is  so  impulsi  e,"  thought  the  good  little 
creature,  always  plotting  about  her  husband,  "  that 
she  will  rush  upon  me,  and  never  see  him  for  the 
first  five  minutes ;  and  Elsley  is  so  sensitive  —  how 
can  he  be  otherwise,  in  his  position,  poor  dear?" 
So  she  refrained  herself,  like  Joseph,  and  stood 
at  the  door  till  Valentia  was  half-way  down  the 
garden-walk,  having  taken  Elsley's  somewhat 
shyly  offered  arm ;  and  then  she  could  restrain 
herseli  no  longer,  and  the  two  women  ran  upon 
each  other,  and  kissed,  and  sobbed,  and  talked, 
till  Lucia  was  out  of  breath ;  but  Valentia  was  not 
so  easily  silenced. 


L'homme  Incompris  333 

"My  darling!  and  you  are  looking  s6  much 
better  than  I  expected ;  but  not  quite  yourself  yet. 
That  naughty  baby  is  killing  you,  I  am  sure ! 
And  Mr.  Vavasour  too,  I  shall  begin  to  call  him 
Elsley  to-morrow,  if  I  like  him  as  much  as  I  do 
now  —  but  he  is  looking  quite  thin  —  wearing  him- 
self out  with  writing  so  many  beautiful  books,  — 
that  '  Wreck '  was  perfect !  And  where  are  the 
children?  I  must  rush  upstairs  and  devour  them! 
—  and  what  a  delicious  old  garden !  and  clipt 
yews,  too,  so  dark  and  romantic,  and  such  dear 
old-fashioned  flowers !  Mr.  Vavasour  must  show 
me  all  over  it,  and  over  that  hanging  wood,  too. 
What  a  duck  of  a  place !  And  oh,  my  dear,  I  am 
quite  out  of  breath  !  " 

And  so  she  swept  in,  with  her  arm  round  Lucia's 
waist;  while  Elsley  stood  looking  after  her,  well 
enough  satisfied  with  her  reception  of  him,  and 
only  hoping  that  the  stream  of  words  would 
slacken  after  a  while. 

"  What  a  magnificent  creature ! "  said  he  to 
himself.  "  Who  would  have  believed  that  the 
three  years  would  make  such  a  change ! " 

And  he  was  right.  The  tall  lithe  girl  had 
bloomed  into  full  glory;  and  Valentia  St.  Just, 
though  not  delicately  beautiful,  was  as  splendid 
an  Irish  damsel  as  men  need  look  upon,  with  a 
grand  mask,  aquiline  features,  luxuriant  black 
hair,  and  —  though  it  was  the  fag-end  of  the 
London  season  —  the  unrivalled  Irish  complexion, 
as  of  the  fair  dame  of  Kilkenny,  whose 

"  Lips  were  like  roses,  her  cheeks  were  the  same, 
Like  a  dish  of  fresh  strawberries  smother'd  in  crame." 

Her  figure  was  perhaps  too  tall,  and  somewhat  too 


334  Two  Years  Ago 

stout  also ;  but  its  size  was  relieved  by  the  delicacy 
of  those  hands  and  feet  of  which  Miss  Valentia 
was  most  pardonably  proud,  and  by  that  indescrib- 
able lissomeness  and  lazy  grace  which  Irishwomen 
inherit,  perhaps,  with  their  tinge  of  southern 
blood ;  and  when,  in  half  an  hour,  she  reap- 
peared, with  broad  straw  hat,  and  gown  tucked 
up  a  la  bergtre  over  the  striped  Welsh  petticoat, 
perhaps  to  show  off  the  ankles,  which  only  looked 
the  finer  for  a  pair  of  heavy  laced  boots,  Elsley 
honestly  felt  it  a  pleasure  to  look  at  her,  and  a 
still  greater  pleasure  to  talk  to  her,  and  to  be 
talked  to  by  her ;  while  she,  bent  on  making  her- 
self agreeable,  partly  from  real  good  taste,  partly 
from  natural  good-nature,  and  partly,  too,  because 
she  saw  in  his  eyes  that  he  admired  her,  chatted 
sentiment  about  all  heaven  and  earth. 

For  to  Miss  Valentia —  it  is  sad  to  have  to  say 
it  —  admiration  had  been  now,  for  three  years,  her 
daily  bread.  She  had  lived  in  the  thickest  whirl 
of  the  world,  and,  as  most  do  for  a  while,  found  it 
a  very  pleasant  place. 

She  had  flirted  —  with  how  many  must  not  be 
told ;  and  perhaps  with  more  than  one  with  whom 
she  had  no  business  to  flirt.  Little  Scoutbush  had 
remonstrated  with  her  on  some  such  affair,  but 
she  had  silenced  him  with  an  Irish  jest,  "  You  're 
a  fisherman,  Freddy;  and  when  you  can't  catch 
salmon,  you  catch  trout;  and  when  you  can't 
catch  trout,  you  '11  whip  on  the  shallow  for  poor 
little  gubbahawns,  and  say  that  it  is  all  to  keep 
your  hand  in  —  and  so  do  I." 

The  old  ladies  said  that  this  was  the  reason  why 
she  had  not  married ;  the  men,  however,  asserted 
that  no  one  dare  marry  her ;  and  one  club-oracle 


L'homme  Incompris  335 

had  given  it  as  his  opinion  that  no  man  in  his 
rational  senses  was  to  be  allowed  to  have  anything 
to  do  with  her,  till  she  had  been  well  jilted  two  or 
three  times,  to  take  the  spirit  out  of  her:  but 
that  catastrophe  had  not  yet  occurred,  and  Miss 
Valentia  still  reigned  "  triumphant  and  alone," 
though  her  aunt,  old  Lady  Knockdown,  moved 
all  the  earth,  and  some  dirty  places,  too,  below 
the  earth,  to  get  the  wild  Irish  girl  off  her  hands; 
"  for,"  quoth  she,  "  I  feel  with  Valentia,  indeed, 
just  like  one  of  those  men  who  carry  about  little 
dogs  in  the  Quadrant.  I  always  pity  the  poor 
men  so,  and  think  how  happy  they  must  be  when 
they  have  sold  one.  It  is  one  chance  less,  you 
know,  of  having  it  bite  them  horribly,  and  then 
run  away  after  all." 

There  was,  however,  no  more  real  harm  in 
Valentia  than  there  is  in  every  child  of  Adam. 
Town  frivolity  had  not  corrupted  her.  She  was 
giddy,  given  up  to  enjoyment  of  the  present:  but 
there  was  not  a  touch  of  meanness  about  her;  and 
if  she  was  selfish,  as  every  one  must  needs  be 
whose  thoughts  are  of  pleasure,  admiration,  and 
success,  she  was  so  unintentionally;  and  she 
would  have  been  shocked  and  pained  at  being  told 
that  she  was  anything  but  the  most  kind-hearted 
and  generous  creature  on  earth.  Major  Campbell, 
who  was  her  Mentor  as  well  as  her  brother's,  had 
certainly  told  her  so  more  than  once;  at  which 
she  had  pouted  a  good  deal,  and  cried  a  little,  and 
promised  to  amend;  then  packed  up  a  heap  of 
cast-off  things  to  send  to  Lucia  —  half  of  it  much 
too  fine  to  be  of  any  use  to  the  quiet  little  woman ; 
and  lastly,  gone  out  and  bought  fresh  finery  for 
herself,  and  forgot  all  her  good  resolutions.  Where- 


336  Two  Years  Ago 

by  it  befell  that  she  was  tolerably  deep  in  debt  at 
the  end  of  every  season,  and  had  to  torment  and 
kiss  Scoutbush  into  paying  her  bills ;  which  he  did 
like  a  good  brother,  and  often  before  he  had  paid 
his  own. 

But,  howsoever  full  Valentia's  head  may  have 
been  of  fine  garments  and  London  flirtations, 
she  had  too  much  tact  and  good  feeling  to  talk 
that  evening  of  a  world  of  which  even  Elsley  knew 
more  than  her  sister.  For  poor  Lucia  had  been 
but  eighteen  at  the  time  of  her  escapade,  and  had 
not  been  presented  twelve  months;  so  that  she 
was  as  "  inexperienced  "  as  any  one  can  be,  who 
has  only  a  husband,  three  children,  and  a  house- 
hold to  manage  on  less  than  three  hundred  a  year. 
Therefore  Valentia  talked  only  of  things  which 
would  interest  Elsley ;  asked  him  to  read  his  last 
new  poem  —  which,  I  need  not  say,  he  did ;  told 
him  how  she  devoured  everything  he  wrote; 
planned  walks  with  him  in  the  country;  seemed 
to  consult  his  pleasure  in  every  way. 

"  To-morrow  morning  I  shall  sit  with  you  and  the 
children,  Lucia;  of  course  I  must  not  interrupt 
Mr.  Vavasour :  but  really  in  the  afternoon  I  must 
ask  him  to  spare  a  couple  of  hours  from  the 
Muses." 

Vavasour  was  delighted  to  do  anything :  "Where 
would  she  walk?" 

"Where?  of  course  to  see  the  beautiful  school- 
mistress who  saved  the  man  from  drowning ;  and 
then  to  see  the  chasm  across  which  he  was  swept. 
I  shall  understand  your  poem  so  much  better,  you 
know,  if  I  can  but  realize  the  people  and  the  place. 
And  you  must  take  me  to  see  Captain  Willis,  too, 
and  even  the  lieutenant  —  if  he  does  not  smell  too 


L'homme  Incompris  337 

much  of  brandy.     I  will  be  so  gracious  and  civil, 
quite  the  lady  of  the  castle." 

"  You  will  make  quite  a  royal  progress,"  said 
Lucia,  looking  at  her  with  sisterly  admiration. 

"  Yes,  I  intend  to  usurp  as  many  of  Scoutbush's 
honors  as  I  can  till  he  comes.  I  must  lay  down 
the  sceptre  in  a  fortnight,  you  know,  so  I  shall 
make  as  much  use  of  it  as  I  can  meanwhile." 

And  so  on,  and  so  on ;  meaning  all  the  while  to 
put  Elsley  quite  at  his  ease,  and  let  him  understand 
that  bygones  were  bygones,  and  that  with  her  any 
reconciliation  at  all  was  meant  to  be  a  complete 
one;  which  was  wise  and  right  enough.  But 
Valentia  had  not  counted  on  the  excitable  and 
vain  nature  with  which  she  was  dealing;  and 
Lucia,  who  had  her  own  fears  from  the  first  even- 
ing, was  the  last  person  in  the  world  to  tell  her  of 
it ;  first  from  pride  in  herself,  and  then  from  pride 
in  her  husband.  For  even  if  a  woman  has  made  a 
foolish  match,  it  is  hard  to  expect  her  to  confess 
as  much;  and,  after  all,  a  husband  is  a  husband, 
and  let  his  faults  be  what  they  might,  he  was  still 
her  Elsley;  her  idol  once;  and  perhaps  (so  she 
hoped)  her  idol  again  hereafter,  and  if  not,  still 
he  was  her  husband,  and  that  was  enough. 

"By  which  you  mean,  sir,  that  she  considered 
herself  bound  to  endure  everything  and  anything 
from  him,  simply  because  she  had  been  married 
to  him  in  church?  " 

Yes,  and  a  great  deal  more.  Not  merely  being 
married  in  church;  but  what  married  in  church 
means,  and  what  every  woman  who  is  a  woman 
understands;  and  lives  up  to  without  flinching, 
though  she  die  a  martyr  for  it,  or  a  confessor ;  a 
far  higher  saint,  if  the  truth  was  known,  as  it  will 


338  Two  Years  Ago 

be  some  day,  than  all  the  holy  virgins  who  ever 
fasted  and  prayed  in  a  convent  since  the  days 
when  Macarius  first  turned  fakir.  For,  to  a  true 
woman,  the  mere  fact  of  a  man's  being  her  husband, 
put  it  on  the  lowest  ground  that  you  choose,  is 
utterly  sacred,  divine,  all-powerful;  in  the  might 
of  which  she  can  conquer  self  in  a  way  which  is 
an  every-day  miracle ;  and  the  man  who  does  not 
feel  about  the  mere  fact  of  a  woman's  having  given 
herself  utterly  to  him,  just  what  she  herself  feels 
about  it,  ought  to  be  despised  by  all  his  fellows ; 
were  it  not  that,  in  that  case,  it  would  be  necessary 
to  despise  more  human  beings  than  is  safe  for  the 
soul  of  any  man. 

That  fortnight  was  the  sunniest  which  Elsley 
had  passed  since  he  made  secret  love  to  Lucia  in 
Eaton  Square.  Romantic  walks,  the  company  of 
a  beautiful  woman  as  ready  to  listen  as  she  was  to 
talk,  free  license  to  pour  out  all  his  fancies,  sure 
of  admiration,  if  not  of  flattery,  and  pardonably 
satisfied  vanity —  all  these  are  comfortable  things 
for  most  men,  who  have  nothing  better  to  comfort 
them.  But,  on  the  whole,  this  feast  did  not  make 
Elsley  a  better  or  wiser  man  at  home.  Why 
should  it?  Is  a  boy's  digestion  improved  by  turn- 
ing him  loose  into  a  confectioner's  shop?  And 
thus  the  contrast  between  what  he  chose  to  call 
Valentia's  sympathy  and  Lucia's  want  of  sympathy 
made  him,  unfortunately,  all  the  more  cross  to  her 
when  they  were  alone ;  and  who  could  blame  the 
poor  little  woman  for  saying  one  night,  angrily 
enough : 

"Ah,  yes!  Valentia — Valentia  is  imaginative 
—  Valentia  understands  you  —  Valentia  sym- 
pathizes —  Valentia  thinks  .  .  .  Valentia  has  no 


L'homme  Incompris  339 

children  to  wash  and  dress,  no  accounts  to  keep, 
no  linen  to  mend  —  Valentia's  back  does  not 
ache  all  day  long,  so  that  she  would  be  glad 
enough  to  lie  on  the  sofa  from  morning  till  night, 
if  she  was  not  forced  to  work  whether  she  can 
work  or  not.  No,  no;  don't  kiss  me,  for  kisses 
will  not  make  up  for  injustice,  Elsley.  I  only  trust 
that  you  will  not  tempt  me  to  hate  my  own  sister. 
No:  don't  talk  to  me  now,  let  me  sleep  if  I  can 
sleep;  and  go  and  walk  and  talk  sentiment  with 
Valentia  to-morrow,  and  leave  the  poor  little 
brood  hen  to  sit  on  her  nest  and  be  despised." 
And  refusing  all  Elsley's  entreaties  for  pardon,  she 
sulked  herself  to  sleep. 

Who  can  blame  her  ?  If  there  is  one  thing  more 
provoking  than  another  to  a  woman,  it  is  to  see 
her  husband  Strass-engel,  Haus-teufel,  an  angel  of 
courtesy  to  every  woman  but  herself;  to  see  him 
in  society  all  smiles  and  good  stories,  the  most 
amiable  and  self-restraining  of  men ;  perhaps  to  be 
complimented  on  his  agreeableness :  and  to  know 
all  the  while  that  he  is  penning  up  all  the  accumu- 
lated ill-temper  of  the  day,  to  let  it  out  on  her 
when  they  get  home ;  perhaps  in  the  very  carriage 
as  soon  as  it  leaves  the  door.  Hypocrites  that  you 
are,  some  of  you  gentlemen  !  Why  cannot  the  act 
against  cruelty  to  women,  corporal  punishment 
included,  be  brought  to  bear  on  such  as  you? 
And  yet,  after  all,  you  are  not  most  to  blame  in 
the  matter :  Eve  herself  tempts  you,  as  at  the  be- 
ginning ;  for  who  does  not  know  that  the  man  is  a 
thousand  times  vainer  than  the  woman  ?  He  does 
but  follow  the  analogy  of  all  nature.  Look  at  the 
Red  Indian,  in  that  blissful  state  of  nature  from 
which  (so  philosophers  inform  those  who  choose 


340  Two  Years  Ago 

to  believe  them)  we  all  sprung.  Which  is  the 
boaster,  the  strutter,  the  bedizener  of  his  sinful 
carcass  with  feathers  and  beads,  fox-tails  and 
bears'  claws  — the  brave,  or  his  poor  little  squaw? 
An  Australian  settler's  wife  bestows  on  some  poor 
slaving  gin  a  cast-  ff  French  bonnet;  before  she 
has  gone  a  hundred  yards,  her  husband  snatches  it 
off,  puts  it  on  his  own  mop,  quiets  her  for  its  loss 
with  a  tap  of  the  waddie,  and  struts  on  in  glory. 
Why  not?  Has  he  not  the  analogy  of  all  nature  on 
his  side?  Have  not  the  male  birds  and  the  male 
moths  the  fine  feathers,  while  the  females  go  soberly 
about  in  drab  and  brown?  Does  the  lioness, 
or  the  lion,  rejoice  in  the  grandeur  of  a  mane; 
the  hind,  or  the  stag,  in  antlered  pride?  How 
know  we  but  that,  in  some  more  perfect  and  nat- 
ural state  of  society,  the  women  will  dress  like  so 
many  Quakeresses ;  while  the  frippery  shops  will 
become  the  haunts  of  men  alone,  and  "  browches, 
pearls,  and  owches  "  be  consecrate  to  the  nobler 
sex?  There  are  signs  already,  in  the  dress  of  our 
young  gentlemen,  of  such  a  return  to  the  law  of 
nature  from  the  present  absurd  state  of  things,  in 
which  the  human  peahens  carry  about  the  gaudy 
trains  which  are  the  peacocks'  right. 

For  there  is  a  secret  feeling  in  woman's  heart 
that  she  is  in  her  wrong  place ;  that  it  is  she  who 
ought  to  worship  the  man,  and  not  the  man  her ; 
and  when  she  becomes  properly  conscious  of  her 
destiny,  has  not  he  a  right  to  be  conscious  of  his? 
If  the  gray  hens  will  stand  round  in  the  mire  cluck- 
ing humble  admiration,  who  can  blame  the  old 
black  cock  for  dancing  and  drumming  on  the  top 
of  a  moss  hag,  with  outspread  wings  and  flirting 
tail,  glorious  and  self-glorifying?  He  is  a  splendid 


L'homme  Incompris  341 

fellow ;  and  he  was  made  splendid  for  some  pur- 
pose, surely?  Why  did  nature  give  him  his  steel- 
blue  coat  and  his  crimson  crest,  but  for  the  very 

same  purpose  that  she  gave  Mr.  A his  intellect 

—  to  be  admired  by  the  other  sex?  And  if  young 
damsels,  overflowing  with  sentiment  and  Ruskin- 
ism,  will  crowd  round  him,  ask  his  opinion  of  this 
book  and  that  picture,  treasure  his  bon-motst  beg 
for  his  autograph,  looking  all  the  while  the  praise 
which  they  do  not  speak  (though  they  speak  a 
good  deal  of  it),  and  when  they  go  home  write 
letters  to  him  on  matters  about  which  in  old  times 
girls  used  to  ask  only  their  mothers ;  —  who  can 
blame  him  if  he  finds  the  little  wife  at  home  a  very 
uninteresting  body,  whose  head  is  so  full  of  petty 
cares  and  gossip,  that  he  and  all  his  talents  are 
quite  unappreciated  ?  Les  femmes  incomprises  of 
France  used  to  (perhaps  do  now)  form  a  class  of 
married  ladies,  whose  sorrows  were  especially  dear 
to  the  novelists,  male  or  female ;  but  what  are  their 
woes  compared  to  those  of  Vhomme  incompris? 
What  higher  vocation  for  a  young  maiden  than  to 
comfort  the  martyr  during  his  agonies?  And,  most 
of  all,  where  the  sufferer  is  not  merely  a  genius, 
but  a  saint ;  persecuted,  perhaps,  abroad  by  vulgar 
tradesmen,  and  Philistine  bishops,  and  snubbed  at 
home  by  a  stupid  wife,  who  is  quite  unable  to  ap- 
preciate his  magnificent  projects  for  regenerating 
all  heaven  and  earth ;  and  only,  humdrum,  practi- 
cal creature  that  she  is,  tries  to  do  justly,  and  love 
mercy,  and  walk  humbly  with  her  God  ?  Fly  to  his 
help,  all  pious  maidens,  and  pour  into  the  wounded 
heart  of  the  holy  man  the  healing  balm  of  self- 
conceit;  cover  his  table  with  confidential  letters, 
choose  him  as  your  father-confessor,  and  lock 


342  Two  Years  Ago 

yourself  up  alone  with  him  for  an  hour  or  two 
every  week,  while  the  wife  is  mending  his  shirts 
upstairs.  True,  you  may  break  the  stupid  wife's 
heart  by  year-long  misery,  as  she  slaves  on,  bear- 
ing the  burden  and  heat  of  the  day,  of  which  you 
never  dream ;  keeping  the  wretched  man,  by  her 
unassuming  good  example,  from  making  a  fool  of 
himself  three  times  a  week ;  and  sowing  the  seed 
of  which  you  steal  the  fruit  What  matter?  If 
your  mortal  soul  requires  it,  what  matter  what  it 
costs  her  carnal  heart?  She  will  suffer  in  silence; 
at  least,  she  will  not  tell  you.  You  think' she  does 
not  understand  you.  Well ;  and  she  thinks  in  re- 
turn that  you  do  not  understand  her,  and  her  mar- 
ried joys  and  sorrows,  and  her  five  children,  and 
her  butcher's  bills,  and  her  long  agony  of  fear  for 
the  husband  of  whom  she  is  ten  times  more  proud 
than  you  could  be ;  for  whom  she  has  slaved  for 
years ;  whose  defects  she  has  tried  to  cure,  while 
she  cured  her  own ;  for  whom  she  would  die  to- 
morrow, did  he  fall  into  disgrace,  when  you  had 
flounced  off  to  find  some  new  idol :  and  so  she  will 
not  tell  you :  and  what  the  ear  heareth  not,  that 
the  heart  grieveth  not.  Go  on  and  prosper  !  You 
may,  too,  ruin  the  man's  spiritual  state  by  vanity ; 
you  may  pamper  his  discontent  with  the  place 
where  God  has  put  him,  till  he  ends  by  flying  off 
to  "  some  purer  Communion,"  and  taking  you  with 
him.  Never  mind.  He  is  a  most  delightful  per- 
son, and  his  intercourse  is  so  improving.  Why 
were  sweet  things  made,  but  to  be  eaten  ?  Go  on 
and  prosper. 

Ah,  young  ladies,  if  some  people  had  (as  it  is 
perhaps  well  for  them  that  they  have  not)  the 
ordering  of  this  same  British  nation,  they  would 


L'homme  Incompris  343 

certainly  follow  your  example,  and  try  to  restore 
various  ancient  institutions.  And  first  among 
them  would  be  that  very  ancient  institution  of  the 
cucking-stool ;  to  be  employed,  however,  not  as  of 
old,  against .  married  scolds  (for  whom  those  who 
have  been  behind  the  scenes  have  all  respect  and 
sympathy),  but  against  unmarried  prophetesses, 
who,  under  whatsoever  high  pretence  of  art  or 
religion,  flirt  with  their  neighbors'  husbands,  be 
they  parson  or  poet. 

Not,  be  it  understood,  that  Valentia  had  the 
least  suspicion  that  Elsley  considered  himself  "  in- 
compris"  If  he  had  hinted  the  notion  to  her,  she 
would  have  resented  it  as  an  insult  to  the  St.  Justs 
in  general,  and  to  her  sister  in  particular;  and 
would  have  said  something  to  him  in  her  off-hand 
way,  the  like  whereof  he  had  seldom  heard,  even 
from  adverse  reviewers. 

Elsley  himself  soon  divined  enough  of  her  char- 
acter to  see  that  he  must  keep  his  sorrows  to  him- 
self, if  he  wished  for  Valentia's  good  opinion ;  and 
soon  —  so  easily  does  a  vain  man  lend  himself  to 
meanness  —  he  found  himself  trying  to  please 
Valentia,  by  praising  to  her  the  very  woman  with 
whom  he  was  discontented.  He  felt  shocked  and 
ashamed  when  first  his  own  baseness  flashed  across 
him :  but  the  bait  was  too  pleasant  to  be  left 
easily :  and,  after  all,  he  was  trying  to  say  to  his 
guest  what  he  knew  his  guest  would  like;  and 
what  was  that  but  following  those  very  rules  of 
good  society,  for  breaking  which  Lucia  was  always 
calling  him  gauche  and  morose?  So  he  actually 
quieted  his  own  conscience  by  the  fancy  that  he 
was  bound  to  be  civil,  and  to  keep  up  appearances, 
41  even  for  Lucia's  sake,"  said  the  self-deceiver  to 


344  Two  Years  Ago 

himself.  And  thus  the  mischief  was  done;  and 
the  breach  between  Lucia  and  her  husband,  which 
had  been  somewhat  bridged  over  during  the  last 
month  or  two,  opened  more  wide  than  ever,  with- 
out a  suspicion  on  Valentia's  part  that  she  was 
doing  all  she  could  to  break  her  sister's  heart. 

She,  meanwhile,  had  plenty  of  reasons  which 
justified  her  new  intimacy  to  herself.  How  could 
she  better  please  Lucia?  How  better  show  that 
bygones  were  to  be  bygones,  and  that  Elsley  was 
henceforth  to  be  considered  as  one  of  the  family, 
than  by  being  as  intimate  as  possible  with  him? 
What  matter  how  intimate?  For,  after  all,  he  was 
only  a  brother,  and  she  his  sister. 

She  had  law  on  her  side  in  that  last  argument, 
as  well  as  love  of  amusement.  Whether  she  had 
either  common  sense  or  Scripture  is  a  very  dif- 
ferent question. 

Poor  Lucia,  too,  tried  to  make  the  best  of  the 
matter ;  and  to  take  the  new  intimacy  as  Valentia 
would  have  had  her  take  it,  in  the  light  of  a  com- 
pliment to  herself;  and  so,  in  her  pride,  she  said 
to  Valentia,  and  told  her  that  she  should  love  her 
for  ever  for  her  kindness  to  Elsley,  while  her  heart 
was  ready  to  burst. 

But  ere  the  fortnight  was  over  the  Nemesis  had 
come,  and  Lucia,  woman  as  she  was,  could  not 
repress  a  thrill  of  malicious  joy,  even  though 
Elsley  became  more  intolerable  than  ever  at  the 
change. 

What  was  the  Nemesis,  then  ? 

Simply  that  this  naughty  Miss  St.  Just  began  to 
smile  upon  Frank  Headley  the  curate,  even  as  she 
had  smiled  upon  Elsley  Vavasour. 

It  was  very  naughty ;  but  she  had  her  excuses. 


L'homme  Incompris  345 

She  had  found  Elsley  out ;  and  it  was  well  for  both 
of  them  that  she  had  done  so.  Already,  upon  the 
strength  of  their  supposed  relationship,  she  had 
allowed  him  to  talk  a  great  deal  more  nonsense  to 
her  —  harmless  perhaps,  but  nonsense  still  —  than 
she  would  have  listened  to  from  any  other  man; 
and  it  was  well  for  both  of  them  that  Elsley  was  a 
man  without  self-control,  who  began  to  show  the 
weak  side  of  his  character  freely  enough,  as  soon  as 
he  became  at  ease  with  his  companion,  and  excited 
by  conversation.  Valentia  quickly  saw  that  he  was 
vain  as  a  peacock,  and  weak  enough  to  be  led  by 
her  in  any  and  every  direction,  when  she  chose 
to  work  on  his  vanity.  And  she  despised  him 
accordingly,  and  suspected,  too,  that  her  sister 
could  not  be  very  happy  with  such  a  man. 

None  are  more  quick  than  sisters-in-law  to  see 
faults  in  the  brother-in-law,  when  once  they  have 
begun  to  look  for  them;  and  Valentia  soon  re- 
marked that  Elsley  showed  Lucia  no  petits  soins, 
while  he  was  ready  enough  to  show  them  to  her ; 
that  he  took  no  real  trouble  about  his  children,  or 
about  anything  else ;  and  twenty  more  faults,  which 
she  might  have  perceived  in  the  first  two  days  of 
her  visit,  if  she  had  not  been  in  such  a  hurry  to 
amuse  herself.  But  she  was  too  delicate  to  ask 
Lucia  the  truth,  and  contented  herself  with  watch- 
ing all  parties  closely,  and  in  amusing  herself 
meanwhile  —  for  amusement  she  must  have  —  in 

"  Breaking  a  country  heart 
For  pastime,  ere  she  went  to  town." 

She  had  met  Frank  several  times  about  the 
parish  and  in  the  schools,  and  had  been  struck  at 
once  with  his  grace  and  high  breeding,  and  with 


346  Two  Years  Ago 

that  air  of  melancholy  which  is  always  interesting 
in  a  true  woman's  eyes.  She  had  seen,  too,  that 
Elsley  tried  to  avoid  him,  naturally  enough  not 
wishing  an  intrusion  on  their  pleasant  tete-d-tetes. 
Whereon,  half  to  spite  Elsley,  and  half  to  show 
her  own  right  to  chat  with  whom  she  chose,  she 
made  Lucia  ask  Frank  to  tea ;  and  next  contrived 
to  go  to  the  school  when  he  was  teaching  there, 
and  to  make  Elsley  ask  him  to  walk  with  them; 
and  all  the  more  because  she  had  discovered  that 
Elsley  had  discontinued  his  walks  with  Frank  as 
soon  as  she  had  appeared  at  Penalva. 

Lucia  was  not  sorry  to  countenance  her  in  her 
naughtiness;  it  was  a  comfort  to  her  to  have  a 
fourth  person  in  the  room  at  times,  and  thus  to 
compel  Elsley  and  Valentia  to  think  of  something 
beside  each  other;  and  when  she  saw  her  sister 
gradually  transferring  her  favors  from  the  mar- 
ried to  the  unmarried  victim,  she  would  have  been 
more  than  woman  if  she  had  not  rejoiced  thereat. 
Only,  she  began  soon  to  be  afraid  for  Frank,  and 
at  last  told  Valentia  so. 

"  Do  take  care  that  you  do  not  break  his  heart !  " 

"My  dear!  You  forget  that  I  sit  under  Mr. 
O'Blareaway,  and  am  to  him  as  a  heathen  and  a 
publican.  Fresh  from  St.  Nepomuc's  as  he  is,  he 
would  as  soon  think  of  falling  in  love  with  an 
'  Oirish  Prodestant,'  as  with  a  malignant  and  a 
turbaned  Turk.  Besides,  my  dear,  if  the  mischief 
is  going  to  be  done,  it 's  done  already." 

"  I  dare  say  it  is,  you  naughty  beautiful  thing. 
If  anybody  is  goose  enough  to  fall  in  love  with 
you,  he  '11  be  also  goose  enough,  I  don't  doubt,  to 
do  so  at  first  sight.  There,  don't  look  perpetually 
in  that  glass :  but  take  care  !  " 


L'homme  Incompris  347 

"What  use?  If  it  is  going  to  happen  at  all,  I 
say,  it  has  happened  already ;  so  I  shall  just  please 
myself,  as  usual." 

And  it  had  happened :  and  poor  Frank  had 
been,  ever  since  the  first  day  he  saw  Valentia, 
over  head  and  ears  in  love.  His  time  had  come, 
and  there  was  no  escaping  his  fate. 

But  to  escape  he  tried.  Convinced,  with  many 
good  men  of  all  ages  and  creeds,  that  a  celibate 
life  was  the  fittest  one  for  a  clergyman,  he  had 
fled  from  St.  Nepomuc's  into  the  wilderness  to 
avoid  temptation,  and  beheld  at  his  cell-door  a 
fairer  fiend  than  ever  came  to  St.  Dunstan.  A 
fairer  fiend,  no  doubt;  for  St.  Dunstan's  imagina- 
tion created  his  temptress  for  him,  but  Valentia 
was  a  reality;  and  fact  and  nature  may  be  safely 
backed  to  produce  something  more  charming  than 
any  monk's  brain  can  do.  One  questions  whether 
St.  Dunstan's  apparition  was  not  something  as 
coarse  as  his  own  mind,  clever  though  that  mind 
was.  At  least,  he  would  never  have  had  the 
heart  to  apply  the  hot  tongs  to  such  a  nose  as 
Valentia's,  but  at  most  have  bowed  her  out  pity- 
ingly, as  Frank  tried  to  bow  out  Valentia  from  the 
sacred  place  of  his  heart,  but  failed. 

Hard  he  tried,  and  humbly  too.  He  had  no 
proud  contempt  for  married  parsons.  He  was 
ready  enough  to  confess  that  he,  too,  might  be 
weak  in  that  respect,  as  in  a  hundred  others.  He 
conceived  that  he  had  no  reason,  from  his  own 
inner  life,  to  believe  himself  worthy  of  any  higher 
vocation  —  proving  his  own  real  nobleness  of  soul 
by  that  very  humility.  He  had  rather  not  marry. 
He  might  do  so  some  day ;  but  he  would  sacrifice 
much  to  avoid  the  necessity.  If  he  was  weak,  he 


348  Two  Years  Ago 

would  use  what  strength  he  had  to  the  uttermost 
ere  he  yielded.  And  all  the  more,  because  he  felt, 
and  reasonably  enough,  that  Valentia  was  the  last 
woman  in  the  world  to  make  a  parson's  wife.  He 
had  his  ideal  of  what  such  a  wife  should  be,  if  she 
were  to  be  allowed  to  exist  at  all  —  the  same  ideal 
which  Mr.  Paget  has  drawn  in  his  charming  little 
book  (would  that  all  parsons'  wives  would  read  and 
perpend),  the  "Owlet  of  Owlstone  Edge."  But 
Valentia  would  surely  not  make  a  Beatrice.  Beau- 
tiful she  was,  glorious,  lovable,  but  not  the  help- 
meet whom  he  needed.  And  he  fought  against 
the  new  dream  like  a  brave  man.  He  fasted,  he 
wept,  he  prayed ;  but  his  prayers  seemed  not  to  be 
heard.  Valentia  seemed  to  have  enthroned  herself, 
a  true  Venus  victrix,  in  the  center  of  his  heart,  and 
would  not  be  dispossessed.  He  tried  to  avoid  see- 
ing her;  but  even  for  that  he  had  not  strength: 
he  went  again  and  again  when  asked,  only  to 
come  home  more  miserable  each  time,  as  fierce 
against  himself  and  his  own  weakness  as  if  he  had 
given  way  to  wine  or  to  oaths.  In  vain,  too,  he 
represented  to  himself  the  ridiculous  hopelessness 
of  his  passion;  the  impossibility  of  the  London 
beauty  ever  stooping  to  marry  the  poor  country 
curate.  Fancies  would  come  in,  how  such  things, 
strange  as  they  might  seem,  had  happened  al- 
ready; might  happen  again.  It  was  a  class  of 
marriage  for  which  he  had  always  felt  a  strong 
dislike,  even  suspicion  and  contempt ;  and  though 
he  was  far  more  fitted,  in  family  as  well  as  per- 
sonal excellence,  for  such  a  match,  than  three  out 
of  four  who  make  them,  yet  he  shrunk  with  dis- 
gust from  the  notion  of  being  himself  classed  at 
last  among  the  match-making  parsons.  Whether 


L'homme  Incompris  349 

there  was  "  carnal  pride  "  or  not  in  that  last 
thought,  his  soul  so  loathed  it  that  he  would 
gladly  have  thrown  up  his  cure  at  Aberalva ;  and 
would  have  done  so  actually,  but  for  one  word 
which  Tom  Thurnall  had  spoken  to  him,  and  that 
was  —  Cholera. 

That  the  cholera  might  come ;  that  it  probably 
would  come,  in  the  course  of  the  next  two  months, 
was  news  to  him  which  was  enough  to  keep  him 
at  his  post,  let  what  would  be  the  consequence. 
And  gradually  he  began  to  see  a  way  out  of  his 
difficulty  —  and  a  very  simple  one;  and  that  was, 
to  die. 

"  That  is  the  solution  after  all,"  said  he.  "  I  am 
not  strong  enough  for  God's  work ;  but  I  will  not 
shrink  from  it,  if  I  can  help.  If  I  cannot  master  it, 
let  it  kill  me;  so  at  least  I  may  have  peace.  I 
have  failed  utterly  here ;  all  my  grand  plans  have 
crumbled  to  ashes  between  _my  fingers.  I  find 
myself  a  cumberer  of  the  ground,  where  I  fancied 
that  I  was  going  forth  like  a  very  Michael  —  fool 
that  I  was !  —  leader  of  the  armies  of  heaven. 
And  now,  in  the  one  remaining  point  on  which  I 
thought  myself  strong,  I  find  myself  weakest  of  all. 
Useless  and  helpless!  I  have  one  chance  left, 
one  chance  to  show  these  poor  souls  that  I  really 
love  them,  really  wish  their  good  —  selfish  that  I 
am!  What  matter  whether  I  do  show  it  or  not? 
What  need  to  justify  myself  to  them  ?  Self,  self, 
creeping  in  everywhere !  I  shall  begin  next,  I  sup- 
pose, longing  for  the  cholera  to  come,  that  I  may 
show  off  myself  in  it,  and  make  spiritual  capital  out 
of  their  dying  agonies !  Ah  me !  that  it  were  all 
over !  That  this  cholera,  if  it  is  to  come,  would 
wipe  out  of  this  head  what  I  verily  believe  nothing 


350  Two  Years  Ago 

but  death  will  do !  "  And  therewith  Frank  laid 
his  head  on  the  table,  and  cried  till  he  could  cry 
no  more. 

It  was  not  over  manly;  but  he  was  weakened 
with  overwork  and  sorrow;  and,  on  the  whole,  it 
was  perhaps  the  best  thing  he  could  do ;  for  he  fell 
asleep  there,  with  his  head  on  the  table,  and  did 
not  wake  till  the  dawn  blazed  through  his  open 
window. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  DOCTOR  AT  BAY 

DID  you  ever,  in  a  feverish  dream,  climb  a 
mountain  which  grew  higher  and  higher  as 
you  climbed ;  and  scramble  through  passages  which 
changed  perpetually  before  you,  and  up  and  down 
break-neck  stairs  which  broke  off  perpetually  be- 
hind you  ?  Did  you  ever  spend  the  whole  night, 
foot  in  stirrup,  mounting  that  phantom  hunter 
which  never  gets  mounted,  or,  if  he  does,  turns 
into  a  pen  between  your  knees ;  or  in  going  to  fish 
that  phantom  stream  which  never  gets  fished  ?  Did 
you  ever,  late  for  that  mysterious  dinner-party  in 
some  enchanted  castle,  wander  disconsolately,  in 
unaccountable  rags  and  dirt,  in  search  of  that 
phantom  carpet-bag  which  never  gets  found  ?  Did 
you  ever  "  realize  "  to  yourself  the  sieve  of  the 
Danafdes,  the  stone  of  Sisyphus,  the  wheel  of 
Ixion;  the  pleasure  of  shearing  that  domestic 
animal  who  (according  to  the  experience  of  a  very 
ancient  observer  of  nature)  produces  more  cry 
than  wool;  the  perambulation  of  that  Irishman's 
model  bog,  where  you  slip  two  steps  backward  for 
one  forward,  and  must,  therefore,  in  order  to  pro- 
gress at  all,  turn  your  face  homeward,  and  progress 
as  a  pig  does  into  a  steamer,  by  going  the  opposite 
way?  Were  you  ever  condemned  to  spin  ropes  of 
sand  to  all  eternity,  like  Tregeagle  the  wrecker; 
or  to  extract  the  cube  roots  of  a  million  or  two  of 


352  Two  Years  Ago 

hopeless  surds,  like  the  mad  mathematician;  or 
last,  and  worst  of  all,  to  work  the  Nuisances  Re- 
moval Act  ?  Then  you  can  enter,  as  a  man  and  a 
brother,  into  the  sorrows  of  Tom  Thurnall,  in  the 
months  of  June  and  July,  1854. 

He  had  made  up  his  mind,  for  certain  good 
reasons  of  his  own,  that  the  cholera  ought  to  visit 
Aberalva  in  the  course  of  the  summer;  and,  of 
course,  tried  his  best  to  persuade  people  to  get 
ready  for  their  ugly  visitor;  but  in  vain.  The 
cholera  come  there  ?  Why,  it  never  had  come  yet, 
which  signified,  when  he  inquired  a  little  more 
closely,  that  there  had  been  only  one  or  two 
doubtful  cases  in  1837,  an^  five  or  six  in  1849. 
In  vain  he  answered,  "  Very  well ;  and  is  not  that 
a  proof  that  the  causes  of  cholera  are  increasing 
here  ?  If  you  had  one  case  the  first  time,  and  five 
times  as  many  the  next,  by  the  same  rule  you  will 
have  five  times  as  many  more  if  it  comes  this 
summer." 

"  Nonsense  !  Aberalva  was  the  healthiest  town 
on  the  coast." 

"  Well  but,"  would  Tom  say,  "  in  the  census  be- 
fore last,  you  had  a  population  of  1300  in  112 
houses,  and  that  was  close  packing  enough,  in  all 
conscience ;  and  in  the  last  census  I  find  you  had 
a  population  of  over  1400,  which  must  have  in- 
creased since;  and  there  are  eight  or  nine  old 
houses  in  the  town  pulled  down,  or  turned  into 
stores ;  so  you  are  more  closely  packed  than  ever. 
And  mind,  it  may  seem  no  very  great  difference, 
but  it  is  the  last  drop  that  fills  the  cup." 

What  had  that  to  do  with  cholera?  And  more 
than  one  gave  him  to  understand  that  he  must  be 
either  a  very  silly  or  a  very  impertinent  person,  to 


The  Doctor  at  Bay  353 

go  poking  into  how  many  houses  there  were  in  the 
town,  and  how  many  people  lived  in  each.  Tar- 
drew,  the  steward,  indeed,  said  openly  that  Mr. 
Thurnall  was  making  disturbance  enough  in 
people's  property  up  at  Pentremochyn,  without 
bothering  himself  with  Aberalva  too.  He  had  no 
opinion  of  people  who  had  a  finger  in  every- 
body's pie.  Whom  Tom  tried  to  soothe  with 
honeyed  words,  knowing  him  to  be  of  the  original 
British  bulldog  breed,  which,  once  stroked  against 
the  hair,  shows  his  teeth  at  you  for  ever 
afterwards. 

But  stanch  was  Tardrew,  unfortunately,  on  the 
wrong  side ;  and  backed  by  the  collective  igno- 
rance, pride,  laziness,  and  superstition  of  Aberalva, 
showed  to  his  new  assailant  that  terrible  front  of 
stupidity,  against  which,  says  Schiller,  "  the  gods 
themselves  fight  in  vain." 

"  Does  he  think  we  was  all  fools  afore  he  came 
here?" 

That  was  the  rallying  cry  of  the  Conservative 
party,  worshippers  of  Baalzebub,  god  of  flies,  and 
of  that  (so  say  Syrian  scholars)  from  which  flies 
are  bred.  And,  indeed,  there  were  excuses  for 
them,  on  the  Yankee  ground,  that  "  there 's  a  deal 
of  human  natur'  in  man."  It  is  hard  to  human 
nature  to  make  all  the  humiliating  confessions 
which  must  precede  sanitary  repentance;  to  say, 
"  I  have  been  a  very  nasty,  dirty  fellow.  I  have 
lived  contented  in  evil  smells,  till  I  care  for  them 
no  more  than  my  pig  does.  I  have  refused  to 
understand  nature's  broadest  hints,  that  anything 
which  is  so  disagreeable  is  not  meant  to  be  left 
about.  I  have  probably  been  more  or  less  the 
cause  of  half  my  own  illnesses,  and  of  three-fourths 


354  Two  Years  Ago 

of  the  illness  of  my  children ;  for  aught  I  know, 
it  is  very  much  my  fault  that  my  own  baby  has 
died  of  scarlatina,  and  two  or  three  of  my  tenants 
of  typhus.  No,  hang  it !  that 's  too  much  to  make 
any  man  confess  to !  I  '11  prove  my  innocence 
by  not  reforming !  "  So  sanitary  reform  is  thrust 
out  of  sight,  simply  because  its  necessity  is  too 
humiliating  to  the  pride  of  all,  too  frightful  to  the 
consciences  of  many. 

Tom  went  to  Trebooze. 

"  Mr.  Trebooze,  you  are  a  man  of  position  in 
the  county,  and  own  some  houses  in  Aberalva. 
Don't  you  think  you  could  use  your  influence  in 
this  matter?" 

"Own  some  houses?  Yes,"  and  Mr.  Trebooze 
consigned  the  said  cottages  to  a  variety  of  unmen- 
tionable places ;  "  cost  me  more  in  rates  than  they 
bring  in  in  rent,  even  if  I  get  the  rent  paid.  I 
should  like  to  get  a  six-pounder,  and  blow  the 
whole  lot  into  the  sea.  Cholera  coming,  eh? 
D'ye  think  it  will  be  there  before  Michaelmas?" 

"  I  do." 

"  Pity  I  can't  clear  'em  out  before  Michaelmas. 
Else  I  'd  have  ejected  the  lot,  and  pulled  the 
houses  down." 

"  I  think  something  should  be  done  meanwhile, 
though,  towards  cleansing  them." 

"...  Let  'em  cleanse  them  themselves ! 
Soap 's  cheap  enough  with  your  .  .  .  free  trade, 
ain't  it?  No,  sir!  That  sort  of  talk  will  do  well 
enough  for  my  Lord  Minchampstead,  sir,  the  old 
money-lending  Jew !  .  .  .  but  gentlemen,  sir,  gen- 
tlemen, that  are  half-ruined  with  free  trade,  and 
your  Whig  policy,  sir,  you  must  give  'em  back 
their  rights  before  they  can  afford  to  throw  away 


The  Doctor  at  Bay  355 

their  money  on  cottages.  Cottages,  indeed !  .  .  . 
upstart  of  a  cotton-spinner,  coming  down  here, 
buying  the  land  over  our  heads,  and  pretends  to 
show  us  how  to  manage  our  estates ;  old  families 
that  have  been  in  the  county  this  four  hundred 
years,  with  the  finest  peasantry  in  the  world  ready 
to  die  for  them,  sir,  till  these  new  revolutionary  doc- 
trines came  in  —  pride  and  purse-proud  conceit,  just 
to  show  off  his  money !  What  do  they  want  with 
better  cottages  than  their  fathers  had  ?  Only  put 
notions  into  their  heads,  raise  'em  above  their  sta- 
tion ;  more  they  have,  more  they  '11  want.  .  .  .  Sir, 
make  chartists  of  'em  all  before  he  's  done !  I  '11 
tell  you  what,  sir,"  —  and  Mr.  Trebooze  attempted 
a  dignified  and  dogmatic  tone  —  "I  never  told  it 
you  before,  because  you  were  my  very  good 
friend,  sir;  but  my  opinion  is,  sir,  that  by  what 
you  're  doing  up  at  Pentremochyn,  you  're  just 
spreading  chartiem  —  chartism,  sir!  Of  course  I 
know  nothing.  Of  course  I  'm  nobody,  in  these 
days;  but  that's  my  opinion,  sir,  and  you've 
got  it!" 

By  which  motion  Tom  took  little.  Mighty  is 
envy  always,  and  mighty  ignorance ;  but  you  be- 
come aware  of  their  truly  Titanic  grandeur  only 
when  you  attempt  to  touch  their  owner's  pocket. 

Tom  tried  old  Heale,  but  took  as  little  in  that 
quarter.  Heale  had  heard  of  sanitary  reform,  of 
course ;  but  he  knew  nothing  about  it,  and  gave  a 
general  assent  to  Tom's  doctrines,  for  fear  of 
exposing  his  own  ignorance ;  acting  on  them  was 
a  very  different  matter.  It  is  always  hard  for  an 
old  medical  man  to  confess  that  anything  has  been 
discovered  since  the  days  of  his  youth ;  and  be- 
sides, there  were  other  reasons  behind,  which  Heale 

Vol.  10— P, 


356  Two  Years  Ago 

tried  to  avoid  giving ;  and  therefore  fenced  off,  and 
fenced  off,  till,  pressed  hard  by  Tom,  wrath  came 
forth,  and  truth  with  it. 

"  And  what  be  you  thinking  of,  sir,  to  expect 
me  to  offend  all  my  best  patients?  and  not  one  of 
'em  but  rents  some  two  cottages,  some  a  dozen. 
And  what  '11  they  say  to  me  if  I  go  a  routing  and 
rookling  in  their  drains,  like  an  old  sow  by  the 
wayside,  beside  putting  'em  to  all  manner  of 
expense?  And  all  on  the  chance  of  this  cholera 
coming,  which  I  have  no  faith  in,  nor  in  this  new- 
fangled sanitary  reform  neither,  which  is  all  a 
dodge  for  a  lot  of  young  Government  puppies  to 
fill  their  pockets,  and  rule  and  ride  over  us :  and 
my  opinion  always  was  with  the  Bible,  that  'tis 
jidgment,  sir,  a  jidgment  of  God,  and  we  can't 
escape  His  holy  will,  and  that's  the  plain  truth 
of  it." 

Tom  made  no  answer  to  that  latter  argument. 
He  had  heard  that  "'tis  jidgment"  from  every 
mouth  during  the  last  few  days ;  and  had  mortally 
offended  the  Brianite  preacher  that  very  morning, 
by  answering  his  "  'tis  jidgment"  with: 

"  But,  my  good  sir !  the  Bible,  I  thought,  says 
that  Aaron  stayed  the  plague  among  the  Israelites, 
and  David  the  one  at  Jerusalem." 

"  Sir,  those  was  miracles,  sir !  and  they  was 
under  the  law,  sir,  and  we  'm  under  the  Gospel, 
you  '11  be  pleased  to  remember." 

"  Humph !  "  said  Tom,  "  then,  by  your  show- 
ing, they  were  better  off  under  the  law  than  we 
are  now,  if  they  could  have  their  plagues  stopped 
by  miracles ;  and  we  cannot  have  ours  stopped  at 
all." 

"  Sir,  be  you  an  infidel?  " 


The  Doctor  at  Bay  357 

To  which  there  was  no  answer  to  be  made. 

In  this  case,  Tom  answered  Heale  with : 

"  But,  my  dear  sir,  if  you  don't  like  (as  is  rea- 
sonable enough)  to  take  the  responsibility  on 
yourself,  why  not  go  to  the  Board  of  Guardians, 
and  get  them  to  put  the  act  in  force?" 

"  Boord,  sir?  and  do  you  know  so  little  of 
Boords  as  that?  Why,  there  ain't  one  of  them  but 
owns  cottages  themselves,  and  it 's  as  much  as  my 
place  is  worth " 

"Your  place  as  medical  officer  is  just  worth 
nothing,  as  you  know ;  you  '11  have  been  out  of 
pocket  by  it  seven  or  eight  pounds  this  year,  even 
if  no  cholera  comes." 

Tom  knew  the  whole  state  of  the  case ;  but  he 
liked  tormenting  Heale  now  and  then. 

"  Well,  sir !  but  if  I  get  turned  out  next  year, 
in  steps  that  Drew  over  at  Care  arrow  Church- 
town  into  my  district,  and  into  the  best  of  my 
practice,  too.  I  wonder  what  sort  of  a  Poor 
Law  district  you  were  medical  officer  of,  if  you 
don't  know  yet  that  that 's  why  we  take  to  the 
poor." 

"  My  dear  sir,  I  know  it,  and  a  good  deal  more 
besides." 

"Then  why  go  bothering  me  this  way?" 

"  Why,"  said  Tom,  "  it 's  pleasant  to  have  old 
notions  confirmed  as  often  as  possible  — 

"  '  Life  is  a  jest,  and  all  things  show  it ; 
I  thought  so  once,  but  now  I  know  it* 

What  an  ass  the  fellow  must  have  been  who  had 
that  put  on  his  tombstone,  not  to  have  found  it 
out  many  a  year  before  he  died !  " 

He  went  next  to  Headley  the  curate,  and  took 


358  Two  Years  Ago 


little   by  that  move;    though  more   than  by  any 
other. 

For  Frank  already  believed  his  doctrines,  as 
an  educated  London  parson  of  course  would ; 
was  shocked  to  hear  that  they  were  likely  to 
become  fact  so  soon  and  so  fearfully;  offered  to 
do  all  he  could:  but  confessed  that  he  could  do 
nothing. 

"  I  have  been  hinting  to  them,  ever  since  I 
came,  improvements  in  cleanliness,  in  ventilation, 
and  so  forth :  but  I  have  been  utterly  unheeded : 
and  bully  me  as  you  will,  doctor,  about  my  cram- 
ming doctrines  down  their  throats,  and  roaring 
like  a  Pope's  bull,  I  assure  you  that,  on  sanitary 
reform,  my  roaring  was  as  of  a  sucking  dove, 
and  ought  to  have  prevailed,  if  soft  persuasion 
can." 

"You  were  a  dove  where  you  ought  to  have 
been  a  bull,  and  a  bull  where  you  ought  to  have 
been  a  dove.  But  roar  now,  if  ever  you  roared, 
in  the  pulpit  and  out.  Why  not  preach  to  them 
on  it  next  Sunday?" 

"  Well,  I  'd  give  a  lecture  gladly,  if  I  could  get 
any  one  to  come  and  hear  it ;  but  that  you  could 
do  better  than  me." 

"  I  '11  lecture  them  myself,  and  show  them  bogies, 
if  my  quarter-inch  will  do  its  work.  If  they  want 
seeing  to  believe,  see  they  shall;  I  have  half  a 
dozen  specimens  of  water  already  which  will  aston- 
ish them.  Let  me  lecture,  you  must  preach." 

"You  must  know,  that  there  is  a  feeling  —  you 
would  call  it  a  prejudice  —  against  introducing 
such  purely  secular  subjects  into  the  pulpit" 

Tom  gave  a  long  whistle. 

"  Pardon  me,  Mr.  Headley ;  you  are  a  man  of 


The  Doctor  at  Bay  359 

sense ;  and  I  can  speak  to  you  as  one  human  being 
to  another,  which  I  have  seldom  been  able  to  do 
with  your  respected  cloth." 

"  Say  on ;  I  shall  not  be  frightened." 

"  Well,  don't  you  put  up  the  Ten  Command- 
merits  in  your  church  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  And  don't  one  of  them  run :  4  Thou  shalt  not 
kill'?" 

"Well?" 

"And  is  not  murder  a  moral  offence  —  what 
you  call  a  sin  ?  " 

"  Sans  doute." 

"  If  you  saw  your  parishioners  in  the  habit  of 
cutting  each  other's  throats,  or  their  own,  should  n't 
you  think  that  a  matter  spiritual  enough  to  be  a 
fit  subject  for  a  little  of  the  drum  ecclesiastic?  " 

"Well?" 

"  Well  ?  Ill !  There  are  your  parishioners  about 
to  commit  wholesale  murder  and  suicide,  and  is 
that  a  secular  question  ?  If  they  don't  know  the 
fact,  is  not  that  all  the  more  reason  for  your  telling 
them  of  it?  You  pound  away,  as  I  warned  you 
once,  at  the  sins  of  which  they  are  just  as  well 
aware  as  you;  why  on  earth  do  you  .hold  your 
tongue  about  the  sins  of  which  they  are  not  aware? 
You  tell  us  every  Sunday  that  we  do  Heaven  only 
knows  how  many  more  wrong  things  than  we 
dream  of.  Tell  it  us  again  now.  Don't  strain  at 
gnats  like  want  of  faith  and  resignation,  and  swal- 
low such  a  camel  as  twenty  or  thirty  deaths.  It 's 
no  concern  of  mine;  I've  seen  plenty  of  people 
murdered,  and  may  again:  I  am  accustomed  to  it; 
but  if  it's  not  your  concern,  what  on  earth  you 
are  here  for  is  more  than  I  can  tell." 


360  Two  Years  Ago 

"You  are  right  —  you  are  right;  but  how  to 
put  it  on  religious  grounds " 

Tom  whistled  again. 

"  If  your  doctrines  cannot  be  made  to  fit  such 
plain  matters  as  twenty  deaths,  font  pis  pour  eux. 
If  they  have  nothing  to  say  on  such  scientific  facts, 
why,  the  facts  must  take  care  of  themselves,  and 
the  doctrines  may,  for  aught  I  care,  go  and  — 
But  I  won't  be  really  rude.  Only  think  over  the 
matter :  if  you  are  God's  minister,  you  ought  to 
have  something  to  say  about  God's  view  of  a  fact 
which  certainly  involves  the  lives  of  His  creatures, 
not  by  twos  and  threes,  but  by  tens  of  thousands." 

So  Frank  went  home,  and  thought  it  through ; 
and  went  once  and  again  to  Thurnall,  and  conde- 
scended to  ask  his  opinion  of  what  he  had  said, 
and  whether  he  said  ill  or  well.  What  Thurnall 
answered  was  —  "  Whether  that 's  sound  Church 
doctrine  is  your  business ;  but  if  it  be,  I  '11  say, 
with  the  man  there  in  the  Acts  —  what  was  his 
name?  —  'Almost  thou  persuadest  me  to  be  a 
Christian.' " 

"  Would  God  that  you  were  one !  for  you  would 
make  a  right  good  one." 

"  Humph !  at  least  you  see  what  you  can  do,  if 
you  '11  only  face  fact  as  it  stands,  and  talk  about 
the  realities  of  life.  I  '11  puff  your  sermon  before- 
hand, I  assure  you,  and  bring  all  I  can  to  hear  it." 

So  Frank  preached  a  noble  sermon,  most 
rational,  and  most  spiritual  withal;  but  he,  too, 
like  his  tutor,  took  little  by  his  motion. 

All  the  present  fruit  upon  which  he  had  to  con- 
gratulate himself  was,  that  the  Brianite  preacher 
denounced  him  in  chapel  next  Sunday  as  a  Ger- 
man Rationalist,  who  impiously  pretended  to  ex- 


The  Doctor  at  Bay  361 

plain  away  the  Lord's  visitation  into  a  carnal  matter 
of  drains,  and  pipes,  and  gases,  and  such  like ;  and 
that  his  rival  of  another  denomination,  who  was  a 
fanatic  on  the  teetotal  question,  denounced  him  as 
bitterly  for  supporting  the  cause  of  drunkenness, 
by  attributing  cholera  to  want  of  cleanliness,  while 
all  rational  people  knew  that  its  true  source  was 
intemperance.  Poor  Frank!  he  had  preached 
against  drunkenness  many  a  time  and  oft:  but 
because  he  would  not  add  a  Mohammedan 
eleventh  commandment  to  those  ten  which  men 
already  find  difficulty  enough  in  keeping,  he  was 
set  upon  at  once  by  a  fanatic  whose  game  it  was  — 
as  it  is  that  of  too  many  —  to  snub  sanitary  reform, 
and  hinder  the  spread  of  plain  scientific  truth,  for 
the  sake  of  pushing  their  own  nostrum  for  all 
human  ills. 

In  despair,  Tom  went  off"  to  Elsley  Vavasour. 
Would  he  help?  Would  he  join,  as  one  of  two 
householders,  in  making  a  representation  to  the 
proper  authorities? 

Elsley  had  never  mixed  in  local  matters :  and  if 
he  had,  he  knew  nothing  of  how  to  manage  men, 
or  to  read  an  Act  of  Parliament ;  so,  angry  as  Tom 
was  inclined  to  be  with  him,  he  found  it  useless  to 
quarrel  with  a  man  so  utterly  unpractical,  who 
would,  probably,  had  he  been  stirred  into  exertion, 
have  done  more  harm  than  good. 

"  Only  come  with  me,  and  satisfy  yourself  as  to 
the  existence  of  one  of  these  nuisances,  and  then 
you  will  have  grounds  on  which  to  go,"  said  Tom, 
who  had  still  hopes  of  making  a  cat's  paw  of  Elsley, 
and  by  his  power  over  him,  pulling  the  strings  from 
behind. 

Sorely   against  his  will,  Elsley  went,  saw,  and 


362  Two  Years  Ago 

smelt;  came  home  again;  was  very  unwell;  and 
was  visited  nightly  for  a  week  after  by  that  most 
disgusting  of  all  phantoms,  sanitary  nightmare; 
which  some  who  have  worked  in  the  foul  places  of 
the  earth  know  but  too  well.  Evidently  his  health 
could  not  stand  it.  There  was  no  work  to  be  got 
out  of  him  in  that  direction. 

"  Would  he  write,  then,  and  represent  matters 
to  Lord  Scoutbush  ?  " 

How  could  he?  He  did  not  know  the  man ;  not 
a  line  had  ever  been  exchanged  between  them. 
Their  relations  were  so  very  peculiar.  It  would 
seem  sheer  impertinence  on  his  part  to  interfere 
with  the  management  of  Lord  Scoutbush's  prop- 
erty. Really  there  was  a  great  deal  to  be  said, 
Tom  felt,  for  poor  Elsley's  dislike  of  meddling  in 
that  quarter. 

"  Would  Mrs.  Vavasour  write,  then?  " 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  do  not  mention  it  to  her. 
She  would  be  so  terrified  about  the  children; 
she  is  worn  out  with  anxiety  already,"  —  and  so 
forth. 

Tom  went  back  to  Frank  Headley. 

"  You  see  a  good  deal  of  Miss  St.  Just." 

"I?  —  No  —  why?  —  what?"  said  poor  Frank, 
blushing. 

"  Only  that  you  must  make  her  write  to  her 
brother  about  this  cholera." 

"  My  dear  fellow,  it  is  such  a  subject  for  a  lady 
to  meddle  with." 

"  It  has  no  scruple  in  meddling  with  ladies ;  so 
ladies  ought  to  have  none  in  meddling  with  it. 
You  must  do  it  as  delicately  as  you  will:  but 
done  it  must  be :  it  is  our  only  chance.  Tell  her 
of  Tardrew's  obstinacy,  or  Scoutbush  will  go  by  his 


The  Doctor  at  Bay  363 

opinion ;  and  tell  her  to  keep  the  secret  from  her 
sister." 

Frank  did  it,  and  well.  Valentia  was  horror- 
struck,  and  wrote. 

Scoutbush  was  away  at  sea,  nobody  knew  where ; 
and  a  full  fortnight  elapsed  before  an  answer  came. 

"  My  dear,  you  are  quite  mistaken  if  you  think  I  can 
do  anything.  Nine-tenths  of  the  houses  in  Aberalva  are 
not  in  my  hands :  but  copyholds  and  long  leases,  over 
which  I  have  no  power.  If  the  people  will  complain  to 
me  of  any  given  nuisance,  I  '11  right  it  if  I  can ;  and  if 
the  doctor  wants  money,  and  sees  any  ways  of  laying  it 
out  well,  he  shall  have  what  he  wants,  though  I  am  very 
high  in  Queer  Street  just  now,  ma'am,  having  paid  your 
bills  before  I  left  town,  like  a  good  brother :  but  I  tell 
you  again,  I  have  no  more  power  than  you  have,  except 
over  a  few  cottages,  and  Tardrew  assured  me,  three 
weeks  ago,  that  they  were  as  comfortable  as  they  ever 
had  been." 

So  Tardrew  had  forestalled  Thurnall  in  writing 
to  the  Viscount.  Well,  there  was  one  more  chance 
to  be  tried. 

Tom  gave  his  lecture  in  the  schoolroom.  He 
showed  them  magnified  abominations  enough  to 
frighten  all  the  children  into  fits,  and  dilated  on 
horrors  enough  to  spoil  all  appetites:  he  proved 
to  them  that,  though  they  had  the  finest  water  in 
the  world  all  over  the  town,  they  had  contrived 
to  poison  almost  every  drop  of  it ;  he  waxed  elo- 
quent, witty,  sarcastic;  and  the  net  result  was  a 
general  grumble. 

"  How  did  he  get  hold  of  all  the  specimens,  as 
he  calls  them?  What  business  has  he  poking  his 
nose  down  people's  wells  and  waterbutts  ?  " 


364  Two  Years  Ago 

But  an  unexpected  ally  arose  at  this  juncture,  in 
the  coastguard  lieutenant,  who,  being  valiant  after 
his  evening's  brandy-and-water,  rose  and  declared 
"  that  Dr.  Thurnall  was  a  very  clever  man ;  that 
by  what  he  'd  seen  himself  in  the  West  Indies,  it 
was  all  as  true  as  gospel ;  that  the  parish  might 
have  the  cholera  if  it  liked,"  —  and  here  a  few  ex- 
pletives occurred  —  "  but  that  he  'd  see  that  the 
coastguard  houses  were  put  to  rights  at  once; 
for  he  would  not  have  the  lives  of  her  Majesty's 
servants  endangered  by  such  dirty  tricks,  not  fit 
for  heathen  savages,"  etc.,  etc. 

Tom  struck  while  the  iron  was  hot.  He  saw  that 
the  great  man's  speech  had  produced  an  impression. 

"  Would  he  "  (so  he  asked  the  lieutenant  pri- 
vately), "  get  some  one  to  join  him,  and  present 
a  few  of  these  nuisances?" 

He  would  do  anything  in  his  contempt  for  "  a  lot 
of  long-shore  merchant-skippers  and  herringers, 
who  went  about  calling  themselves  captains,  and 
fancy  themselves,  sir,  as  good  as  if  they  wore  the 
Queen's  uniform." 

"Well,  then,  can't  we  find  another  householder 
—  some  cantankerous  dog  who  don't  mind  a  row?  " 

Yes,  the  cantankerous  dog  was  found,  in  the 
person  of  Mr.  John  Penruddock,  coal-merchant, 
who  had  quarrelled  with  Tardrew,  because  Tar- 
drew  said  he  gave  short  weight  —  which  he  very 
probably  did  —  and  had  quarrelled  also  with 
Thomas  Beer  senior,  ship-builder,  about  right  of 
passage  through  a  backyard. 

Mr.  Penruddock  suddenly  discovered  that  Mr. 
Beer  kept  up  a  dirt-heap  in  the  said  backyard, 
and  with  virtuous  indignation  vowed  "  he  'd  sarve 
the  old  beggar  out  at  last." 


The  Doctor  at  Bay  365 

So  far  so  good.  The  weapons  of  reason  and 
righteousness  having  failed,  Tom  felt  at  liberty  to 
borrow  the  devil's  tools.  Now  to  pack  a  vestry, 
and  to  nominate  a  local  committee. 

The  vestry  was  packed;  the  committee  nomi- 
nated: of  course  half  of  them  refused  to  act  — 
they  "  did  n't  want  to  go  quarrelling  with  their 
neighbors." 

Tom  explained  to  them  cunningly  and  delicately 
that  they  would  have  nothing  to  do ;  that  one  or 
two  (he  did  not  say  that  he  was  the  one,  and  the 
two  also)  would  do  all  the  work,  and  bear  all  the 
odium :  whereon  the  malcontents  subsided,  con- 
sidering it  likely  that,  after  all,  nothing  would  be 
done. 

Some  may  fancy  that  matters  were  now  getting 
somewhat  settled.  Those  who  do  so  know  little 
of  the  charming  machinery  of  local  governments. 
One  man  has  "  summat  to  say,"  —  utterly  irrele- 
vant ;  another  must  needs  answer  him  with  some- 
thing equally  irrelevant ;  a  long  chatter  ensues,  in 
spite  of  all  cries  to  order  and  question.  Soon  one 
and  another  gets  personal,  and  temper  shows  here 
and  there.  You  would  fancy  that  the  go-ahead 
party  try  to  restore  order,  and  help  business  on. 
Not  in  the  least.  They  have  begun  to  cool  a  little. 
They  are  a  little  afraid  that  they  have  committed 
themselves.  If  people  quarrel  with  each  other,  per- 
haps they  may  qu'arrel  with  them  too.  And  they 
begin  to  be  wonderfully  patient  and  impartial,  in 
the  hope  of  staving  off  the  evil  day,  and  rinding 
some  excuse  for  doing  nothing  after  all.  "  Hear 
'mun  out !  "  .  .  .  "  Vair  and  zoft,  let  ev'ry  man  ha'  his 
zay !"..." There  's  vary  gude  rason  in  it !  "  "I 
did  n't  think  of  that  avore,"  —  and  so  forth ;  till  in 


366  Two  Years  Ago 

a  quarter  of  an  hour  the  whole  question  has  to  be 
discussed  over  again,  through  the  fog  of  a  dozen 
fresh  fallacies,  and  the  miserable  earnest  man  finds 
himself  considerably  worse  off  than  when  he  began. 
Happy  for  him  if  one  chance  word  is  not  let  drop 
which  will  afford  the  whole  assembly  an  excuse 
for  falling  on  him  open-mouthed,  as  the  cause  of 
all  their  woes ! 

That  chance  word  came.  Mr.  Penruddock  gave 
a  spiteful  hit,  being,  as  he  said,  of  a  cantankerous 
turn,  to  Mr.  Treluddra,  principal  "jowder,"  i.  e. 
fish  salesman,  of  Aberalva.  Whereon  Treluddra, 
whose  conscience  told  him  that  there  was  at 
present  in  his  backyard  a  cart-load  and  more  of 
fish  in  every  stage  of  putrefaction,  which  he  had 
kept  rotting  there  rather  than  lower  the  market 
price,  rose  in  wrath. 

"  An'  if  any  committee  puts  its  noz  into  my  back- 
yard, if  it  doant  get  the  biggest  cod's  innards  as  I 
can  collar  hold  on  about  its  ears,  my  name  is  not 
Treluddra !  A  man's  house  is  his  castle,  says  I,  and 
them  as  takes-  up  with  any  o'  this  open-day  burg- 
lary, for  it 's  nothing  else,  has  to  do  wi'  me,  that 's 
all,  and  them  as  knows  their  interest,  knows  me !  " 

Terrible  were  these  words;  for  old  Treluddra, 
like  most  jowders,  combined  the  profession  of 
money-lender  with  that  of  salesman;  and  there 
were  dozens  in  the  place  who  were  in  debt  to  him 
for  money  advanced  to  buy  boats  and  nets,  after 
wreck  and  loss.  Besides,  to  offend  one  jowder 
was  to  offend  all.  They  combined  to  buy  the 
fish  at  any  price  they  chose:  if  angered,  they 
would  combine  now  and  then  not  to  buy  it  at  all. 

"You  old  twenty  per  cent  rascal,"  roared  the 
lieutenant,  "after  making  a  fortune  out  of  these 


The  Doctor  at  Bay  367 

poor  fellows'  mishaps,  do  you  want  to  poison  'm 
all  with  your  stinking  fish?" 

"  I  say,  lieutenant,"  says  old  Beer,  whose  son 
owed  Treluddra  fifty  pounds  at  that  moment, 
"  fair 's  fair.  You  mind  your  coastguard,  and 
we  'm  mind  our  trade.  We  'm  free  fishermen,  by 
charter  and  right ;  you  'm  not  our  master,  and  you 
shall  know  it." 

"  Know  it?  "  says  the  lieutenant,  foaming. 

"  Iss ;  you  put  your  head  inside  my  presences, 
and  I  '11  split  'mun  open,  if  I  be  hanged  for  it." 

"  You  split  my  head  open  !  " 

"  Iss,  by ."  And  the  old  gray-bearded  sea- 
king  set  his  arms  akimbo. 

"  Gentlemen,  gentlemen,  for  Heaven's  sake !  " 
cries  poor  Headley,  "  this  is  really  going  too  far. 
Gentlemen,  the  vestry  is  adjourned !  " 

"  Best  thing  too !  ought  n't  never  to  have  been 
called,"  says  one  and  another. 

And  some  one,  as  he  went  out,  muttered  some- 
thing about  "  interloping  strange  doctors,  collo- 
quies with  popish  curates,"  which  was  answered  by 
a  —  "  Put  'mun  in  the  quay  pule,"  from  Treluddra. 

Tom  stepped  up  to  Treluddra  instantly.  "  What 
were  you  so  kind  as  to  say,  sir  ?  " 

Treluddra  turned  very  pale.  "  I  did  n't  say 
nought." 

"  Oh,  but  I  assure  you  I  heard ;  and  I  shall  be 
most  happy  to  jump  into  the  quay  pule  this  after- 
noon, if  it  will  afford  you  the  slightest  amusement. 
Say  the  word,  and  I  '11  borrow  a  flute,  and  play  you 
the  Rogue's  March  all  the  while  with  my  right 
hand,  swimming  with  my  left.  Now,  gentlemen, 
one  word  before  we  part !  " 

"Who  be  you?"  cries  some  one. 


368  Two  Years  Ago 

"  A  man,  at  least,  and  ought  to  have  a  fair  hear- 
ing. Now,  I  ask  you,  what  possible  interest  can  I 
have  in  this  matter?  I  knew  when  I  began  that  I 
should  give  myself  a  frightful  quantity  of  trouble, 
and  get  only  what  I  have  got." 

"  Why  did  you  begin  at  all,  then?  " 

"  Because  I  was  a  very  foolish,  meddlesome  ass, 
who  fancied  that  I  ought  to  do  my  duty  once  in  a 
way  by  my  neighbors.  Now,  I  have  only  to  say, 
that  if  you  will  but  forgive  and  forget,  and  let  by- 
gones be  bygones,  I  promise  you  solemnly,  I  '11 
never  do  my  duty  by  you  again  as  long  as  I  live, 
nor  interfere  with  the  sacred  privilege  of  every 
free-born  Englishman,  to  do  that  which  is  right  in 
the  sight  of  his  own  eyes,  and  wrong,  too !  " 

"  You  'm  making  fun  at  us,"  said  old  Beer, 
dubiously. 

"Well,  Mr.  Beer,  and  isn't  that  better  than 
quarrelling  with  you?  Come  along,  we'll  all  go 
home  and  forget  it,  like  good  Christians.  Perhaps 
the  cholera  won't  come ;  and  if  it  does,  what 's  the 
odds  so  long  as  you  're  happy,  eh  ?  " 

And  to  the  intense  astonishment  both  of  the 
lieutenant  and  Frank,  Tom  walked  home  with  the 
malcontents,  making  himself  so  agreeable  that  he 
was  forgiven  freely  on  the  spot. 

"  What  does  the  fellow  mean  ?  He  's  deserted 
us,  sir,  after  bringing  us  here  to  make  fools  of  us !  " 

Frank  could  give  no  answer ;  but  Thurnall  gave 
one  himself  that  evening,  both  to  Frank  and  the 
lieutenant. 

"  The  cholera  will  come ;  and  these  fellows  are 
just  mad ;  but  I  must  n't  quarrel  with  them,  mad 
or  not." 

"Why,  then?" 


The  Doctor  at  Bay  369 

"  For  the  same  reason  that  you  must  not.  If  we 
keep  our  influence,  we  may  be  able  to  do  some 
good  at  the  last,  which  means,  in  plain  English, 
saving  a  few  human  lives.  As  for  you,  lieutenant, 
you  have  behaved  like  a  hero,  and  have  been 
served  as  heroes  generally  are.  What  you  must 
do  is  this.  On  the  first  hint  of  disease,  pack  up 
your  traps  and  your  good  lady,  and  go  and  live  in 
the  watch-house  across  the  river.  As  for  the  men's 
houses,  I  '11  set  them  to  rights  in  a  day,  if  you  '11 
get  the  commander  of  the  district  to  allow  you  a 
little  chloride  of  lime  and  whitewash." 

And  so  the  matter  ended. 

"You  are  a  greater  puzzle  than  ever  to  me, 
Thurnall,"  said  Frank.  "  You  are  always  pretend- 
ing to  care  for  nothing  but  your  own  interest,  and 
yet  here  you  have  gone  out  of  your  way  to  incur 
odium,  knowing,  you  say,  that  your  cause  was  all 
but  hopeless." 

"  Well,  I  do  it  because  I  like  it.  It 's  a  sort  of 
sporting  with  your  true  doctor.  He  blazes  away 
at  a  disease  where  he  sees  one,  as  he  would  at  a 
bear  or  a  lion;  the  very  sight  of  it  excites  his 
organ  of  destructiveness.  Don't  you  understand 
me?  You  hate  sin,  you  know.  Well,  I  hate 
disease.  Moral  evil  is  your  devil,  and  physical 
evil  is  mine.  I  hate  it,  little  or  big;  I  hate  to  see 
a  fellow  sick;  I  hate  to  see  a  child  rickety  and 
pale ;  I  hate  to  see  a  speck  of  dirt  in  the  street ;  I 
hate  to  see  a  woman's  gown  torn ;  I  hate  to  see  her 
stockings  down  at  heel;  I  hate  to  see  anything 
wasted,  anything  awry,  anything  going  wrong;  I 
hate  to  see  water-power  wasted,  manure  wasted, 
land  wasted,  muscle  wasted,  pluck  wasted,  brains 
wasted ;  I  hate  neglect,  incapacity,  idleness,  igno- 


370  Two  Years  Ago 

ranee,  and  all  the  disease  and  misery  which  spring 
out  of  that.  There 's  my  devil ;  and  I  can't  help 
it,  for  the  life  of  me,  going  right  at  his  throat, 
wheresoever  I  meet  him !  " 

Lastly,  rather  to  clear  his  reputation  than  in  the 
hope  of  doing  good,  Tom  wrote  up  to  London, 
and  detailed  the  case  to  that  much-calumniated 
body,  the  General  Board  of  Health,  informing 
them  civilly  that  the  Nuisances  Removal  Act  was 
simply  waste  paper;  that  he  could  not  get  it  to 
bear  at  all  on  Aberalva ;  and  that  if  he  had  done 
so,  it  would  have  been  equally  useless,  for  the 
simple  reason  that  it  constituted  the  offenders 
themselves  judge  and  jury  in  their  own  case. 

To  which  the  Board  returned  for  answer,  that 
they  were  perfectly  aware  of  the  fact,  and  deeply 
deplored  the  same :  but  that  as  soon  as  cholera 
broke  out  in  Aberalva,  they  should  be  most  happy 
to  send  down  an  inspector. 

To  which  Tom  replied  courteously,  that  he 
would  not  give  them  the  trouble,  being  able,  he 
trusted,  to  perform  without  assistance  the  not  un- 
common feat  of  shutting  the  stable-door  after  the 
horse  was  stolen. 

And  so  was  Aberalva  left  "  a  virgin  city,"  unde- 
filed  by  Government  interference,  to  the  blessings 
of  that  "  local  government "  which  signifies,  in 
plain  English,  the  leaving  the  few  to  destroy  them- 
selves and  the  many  by  the  unchecked  exercise  of 
the  virtues  of  pride  and  ignorance,  stupidity  and 
stinginess. 

But  to  Tom,  in  his  sorest  need,  arose  a  new  and 
most  unexpected  coadjutor ;  and  this  was  the  way 
in  which  it  came  to  pass. 

For  it    befell    in   that   pleasant   summer-time, 


The  Doctor  at  Bay  371 

"when  small  birds  sing,  and  shaughs  are  green," 
that  Thurnall  started,  one  bright  Sunday  eve,  to 
see  a  sick  child  at  an  upland  farm,  some  few  miles 
from  the  town.  And  partly  because  he  liked  the 
walk,  and  partly  because  he  could  no  other,  having 
neither  horse  nor  gig,  he  went  on  foot ;  and  whis- 
tled as  he  went  like  any  throstle-cock,  along  the 
pleasant  vale,  by  flowery  banks  and  ferny  walls,  by 
oak  and  ash  and  thorn,  while  Alva  flashed  and 
swirled  between  green  boughs  below,  clear  coffee- 
brown  from  last  night's  rain.  Some  miles  up  the 
turnpike  road  he  went,  and  then  away  to  the  right, 
through  the  ash-woods  of  Trebooze,  up  by  the  rill 
which  drips  from  pool  to  pool  over  the  ledges  of 
gray  slate,  deep-bedded  in  dark  sedge,  and  broad 
bright  burdock  leaves,  and  tall  angelica,  and  ell- 
broad  rings  and  tufts  of  king,  and  crown,  and  lady- 
fern,  and  all  the  semi-tropic  luxuriance  of  the  fat 
western  soil,  and  steaming  western  woods ;  out  into 
the  boggy  moor  at  the  glen  head,  all  fragrant  with 
the  gold-tipped  gale,  where  the  turf  is  enamelled 
with  the  hectic  marsh  violet,  and  the  pink  pimper- 
nel, and  the  pale  yellow  leaf-stars  of  the  butterwort, 
and  the  blue  bells  and  green  threads  of  the  ivy- 
leaved  campanula;  out  upon  the  steep  smooth 
down  above,  and  away  over  the  broad  cattle-pas- 
tures ;  and  then  to  pause  a  moment,  and  look  far 
and  wide  over  land  and  sea. 

It  was  a  "  day  of  God."  The  earth  lay  like  one 
great  emerald,  ringed  and  roofed  with  sapphire; 
blue  sea,  blue  mountain,  blue  sky  overhead.  There 
she  lay,  not  sleeping,  but  basking  in  her  quiet  Sab- 
bath joy,  as  though  her  two  great  sisters  of  the  sea 
and  air  had  washed  her  weary  limbs  with  holy 
tears,  and  purged  away  the  stains  of  last  week's  sin 


372  Two  Years  Ago 

and  toil,  and  cooled  her  hot  worn  forehead  with 
their  pure  incense-breath,  and  folded  her  within 
their  azure  robes,  and  brooded  over  her  with  smiles 
of  pitying  love,  till  she  smiled  back  in  answer,  and 
took  heart  and  hope  for  next  week's  weary  work. 

Heart  and  hope  for  next  week's  work.  That 
was  the  sermon  which  it  preached  to  Tom  Thur- 
nall,  as  he  stood  there  alone,  a  stranger  and  a 
wanderer,  like  Ulysses  of  old ;  but,  like  him,  self- 
helpful,  cheerful,  fate-defiant.  In  one  respect,  in- 
deed, he  knew  less  than  Ulysses,  and  was  more  of 
a  heathen  than  he ;  for  he  knew  not  what  Ulysses 
knew,  that  a  heavenly  guide  was  with  him  in  his 
wanderings ;  still  less  what  Ulysses  knew  not,  that 
what  he  called  the  malicious  sport  of  fortune  was, 
in  truth,  the  earnest  education  of  a  father:  but 
who  will  blame  him  for  getting  strength  and  com- 
fort from  such  merely  natural  founts,  or  say  that 
the  impulse  came  from  below,  and  not  from  above, 
which  made  him  say : 

"  Brave  old  world  she  is,  after  all,  and  right  well 
made;  and  looks  right  well  to-day,  in  her  go-to- 
meeting  clothes ;  and  plenty  of  room  and  chance 
in  her  for  a  brave  man  to  earn  his  bread,  if  he  will 
but  go  right  on  about  his  business,  as  the  birds 
and  the  flowers  do,  instead  of  peaking  and  pining 
over  what  people  think  of  him,  like  that  miserable 
Briggs.  Hark  to  that  jolly  old  missel-thrush  be- 
low !  he 's  had  his  nest  to  build,  and  his  supper  to 
earn,  and  his  young  ones  to  feed,  and  all  the  crows 
and  kites  in  the  wood  to  drive  away,  the  sturdy 
John  Bull  that  he  is ;  and  yet  he  can  find  time  to 
sing  as  merrily  as  an  abbot,  morning  and  evening, 
since  he  sang  the  new  year  in  last  January.  And 
why  should  not  I?" 


The  Doctor  at  Bay  373 

Let  him  be  awhile ;  there  are  sounds  of  deeper 
meaning  in  the  air,  if  his  heart  had  ears  to  hear 
them;  far  off  church-bells  chiming  to  even-song; 
hymn-tunes  floating  up  the  glen  from  the  little 
chapel  in  the  vale.  He  may  learn  what  they,  too, 
mean  some  day.  Honor  to  him  at  least,  that  he 
has  learnt  what  the  missel-thrush  below  can  tell 
him.  If  he  accept  cheerfully  and  manfully  the 
things  which  he  does  see,  he  will  be  all  the  more 
able  to  enter  hereafter  into  the  deeper  mystery  of 
things  unseen.  The  road  toward  true  faith  and 
reverence  for  God's  kingdom  of  heaven  does  not 
lie  through  Manichaean  contempt  and  slander  of 
God's  kingdom  of  earth. 

So  let  him  stride  over  the  down,  enjoying  the 
mere  fact  of  life,  and  health,  and  strength,  and 
whistling  shrilly  to  the  bird  below,  who  trumpets 
out  a  few  grand  ringing  notes,  and  repeats  them 
again  and  again,  in  saucy  self-satisfaction;  and 
then  stops  to  listen  for  the  answer  to  this  chal- 
lenge ;  and  then  rattles  on  again  with  a  fresh  pas- 
sage, more  saucily  than  ever,  in  a  tone  which  seems 
to  ask,  "You  could  sing  that,  eh?  but  can  you 
sing  this,  my  fine  fellow  on  the  down  above?"  So 
he  seems  to  Tom  to  say;  and,  tickled  with  the 
fancy,  Tom  laughs,  and  whistles,  and  laughs,  and 
has  just  time  to  compose  his  features  as  he  steps 
up  to  the  farmyard  gate. 

Let  him  be,  I  say  again.  He  might  have  better 
Sunday  thoughts ;  perhaps  he  will  have  some  day. 
At  least  he  is  a  man,  and  a  brave  one ;  and  as  the 
greater  contains  the  less,  surely  before  a  man  can 
be  a  good  man,  he  must  be  a  brave  one  first,  much 
more  a  man  at  all.  Cowards,  old  Odin  held,  inevi- 
tably went  to  the  very  bottom  of  Hela-pool,  and  by 


374  Two  Years  Ago 

no  possibility,  unless  of  course  they  became  brave 
at  last,  could  rise  out  of  that  everlasting  bog,  but 
sank  whining  lower  and  lower  like  mired  cattle,  to 
all  eternity  in  the  unfathomable  peat-slime.  And 
if  the  twenty-first  chapter  of  the  Book  of  Revela- 
tion, and  the  eighth  verse,  is  to  be  taken  as  it 
stands,  their  doom  has  not  altered  since  Odin's 
time,  unless  to  become  still  worse. 

Tom  came  up,  over  the  home-close  and  through 
the  barton-gate,  through  the  farmyard,  and  stopped 
at  last  at  the  porch.  The  front  door  was  open, 
and  the  door  beyond  it;  and  ere  he  knocked,  he 
stopped,  looking  in  silence  at  a  picture  which  held 
him  spellbound  for  a  moment  by  its  rich  and  yet 
quiet  beauty. 

Tom  was  no  artist,  and  knew  no  more  of  paint- 
ing, in  spite  of  his  old  friendship  with  Claude,  than 
was  to  be  expected  of  a  keen  and  observant  natu- 
ralist who  had  seen  half  the  globe.  Indeed,  he 
had  been  in  the  habit  of  snubbing  Claude's  pro- 
fession ;  and  of  arriving,  on  pre-Raphaelite  grounds, 
at  a  by  no  means  pre-Raphaelite  conclusion.  "  A 
picture,  you  say,  is  worth  nothing  unless  you  copy 
nature.  But  you  can't  copy  her.  She  is  ten  times 
more  gorgeous  than  any  man  can  dare  represent 
her.  Ergo,  every  picture  is  a  failure;  and  the 
nearest  hedge-bush  is  worth  all  your  galleries  to- 
gether,"—  a  syllogism  of  sharp  edge,  which  he 
would  back  up  by  Byron's  — 

"  I  've  seen  much  finer  women,  ripe  and  real, 
Than  all  the  nonsense  of  their  stone  ideal." 

But  here  was  one  of  nature's  own  pictures, 
drawn  and  colored  by  more  than  mortal  hand, 
and  framed  over  and  above,  ready  to  his  eye,  by 


The  Doctor  at  Bay  375 

the  square  of  the  dark  doorway,  beyond  which  all 
was  flooded  with  the  full  glory  of  the  low  north- 
western sun. 

A  dark  oak-ribbed  ceiling;  walls  of  pale  fawn- 
yellow  ;  an  open  window,  showing  a  corner  of  rich 
olive-stone  wall,  enamelled  with  golden  lichens, 
orange  and  green  combs  of  polypody,  pink  and 
gray  tufts  of  pellitory,  all  glowing  in  the  sunlight. 

Above  the  window-sill  rose  a  bush  of  maiden- 
blush  roses ;  a  tall  spire  of  blue  monkshood ;  and 
one  head  of  scarlet  lychnis,  like  a  spark  of  fire; 
and,  behind  all,  the  dark  blue  sea,  which  faded 
into  the  pale-blue  sky. 

At  the  window  stood  a  sofa  of  old  maroon  leather, 
its  dark  hue  throwing  out  in  strong  relief  two  fig- 
ures who  sat  upon  it.  And  when  Tom  had  once 
looked  at  them,  he  looked  at  nothing  else. 

There  sat  the  sick  girl,  her  head  nestling  upon 
the  shoulder  of  Grace  Harvey;  a  tall,  delicate 
thing  of  seventeen,  with  thin  white  cheeks,  the 
hectic  spot  aflame  on  each,  and  long  fair  curls, 
which  mingled  lovingly  with  Grace's  dark  tresses, 
as  they  sat  cheek  against  cheek,  and  hand  in  hand. 
Her  eyes  were  closed ;  Tom  thought  at  first  that 
she  was  asleep ;  but  there  was  a  quiet  smile  about 
her  pale  lips  ;  and  every  now  and  then  her  left 
hand  left  Grace's,  to  move  toward  a  leaf  full  of 
strawberries  which  lay  on  Grace's  lap ;  and  Tom 
could  see  that  she  was  listening  intently  to  Grace, 
who  told  and  told,  in  that  sweet  measured  voice  of 
hers,  her  head  erect,  her  face  in  the  full  blaze  of 
sunshine,  her  great  eyes  looking  out  far  away  be- 
yond the  sea,  beyond  the  sky,  into  some  infinite 
which  only  she  beheld. 

Tom  had  approached  unheard  across  the  farm- 


376  Two  Years  Ago 

yard  straw.  He  stood  and  looked  his  fill.  The 
attitude  of  the  two  girls  was  so  graceful,  that  he 
was  loth  to  disturb  it;  and  loth,  too,  to  disturb  a 
certain  sunny  calm  which  warmed  at  once  and 
softened  his  stout  heart. 

He  wished,  too  —  he  scarce  knew  why  —  to 
hear  what  Grace  was  saying ;  and  as  he  listened, 
her  voice  was  so  distinct  and  delicate  in  its  modu- 
lations, that  every  word  came  clearly  to  his  ear. 

It  was  the  beautiful  old  legend  of  St.  Dorothea : 

"  So  they  did  all  sorts  of  dreadful  things  to  her, 
and  then  led  her  away  to  die;  and  they  stood 
laughing  there.  But  after  a  little  time  there  came 
a  boy,  the  prettiest  boy  that  ever  was  seen  on 
earth,  and  in  his  hand  a  basket  full  of  fruits  and 
flowers,  more  beautiful  than  tongue  can  tell.  And 
he  said,  *  Dorothea  sends  you  these,  out  of  the 
heavenly  garden  which  she  told  you  of;  will  you 
believe  her  now?'  And  then,  before  they  could 
reply,  he  vanished  away.  And  Theophilus  looked 
at  the  flowers,  and  tasted  the  fruit,  and  a  new  heart 
grew  up  within  him ;  and  he  said,  '  Dorothea's  God 
shall  be  my  God,  and  I  will  die  for  Him  like  her.' 

"  So  you  see,  darling,  there  are  sweeter  fruits 
than  these,  and  gayer  flowers,  in  the  place  to 
which  you  go ;  and  all  the  lovely  things  in  this 
world  here  will  seem  quite  poor  and  worthless 
beside  the  glory  of  that  better  land  which  He  will 
show  you ;  and  yet  you  will  not  care  to  look  at 
them ;  for  the  sight  of  Him  will  be  enough,  and 
you  will  care  to  think  of  nothing  else." 

"And  you  are  sure  He  will  accept  me,  after 
all?"  asked  the  sick  girl,  opening  her  eyes,  and 
looking  up  at  Grace.  She  saw  Thurnall  standing 
in  the  doorway,  and  gave  a  little  scream. 


The  Doctor  at  Bay  377 

Tom  came  forward,  bowing.  "  I  am  very  sorry 
to  have  disturbed  you.  I  suspect  Miss  Harvey 
was  giving  you  better  medicine  than  I  can  give." 

Now  why  did  Tom  say  that,  to  whom  the  legend 
of  St.  Dorothea,  and,  indeed,  that  whole  belief  in 
a  better  land,  was  as  a  dream  fit  only  for  girls? 

Not  altogether  because  he  must  needs  say  some- 
thing civil.  True,  he  felt,  on  the  whole,  about  the 
future  state  as  Goethe  did  —  "  To  the  able  man  this 
world  is  not  dumb ;  why  should  he  ramble  off  into 
eternity?  Such  incomprehensible  subjects  lie  too 
far  off,  and  only  disturb  our  thoughts,  if  made  the 
subject  of  daily  meditation."  That  there  was  a 
future  state  he  had  no  doubt.  Our  having  been 
born  once,  he  used  to  say,  is  the  strongest  possible 
presumption  in  favor  of  our  being  born  again ; 
and  probably,  as  nature  always  works  upward 
and  develops  higher  forms,  in  some  higher  state. 
Indeed,  for  aught  he  knew,  the  old  ichthyosaurs 
and  plesiosaurs  might  be  alive  now  as  lions,  or  as 
men.  He  himself,  indeed,  he  had  said,  ere  now 
had  been  probably  a  pterodactyl  of  the  Lias, 
neither  fish,  flesh,  nor  good  red  herring,  but 
crocodile  and  bat  in  one,  able  alike  to  swim,  or 
run,  or  fly,  eat  anything,  and  live  in  any  ele- 
ment. Still  it  was  no  concern  of  his.  He  was 
here,  and  here  was  his  business.  He  had  not 
thought  of  this  life  before  he  came  into  it;  and 
it  would  be  time  enough  to  think  of  the  next  life 
when  he  got  into  it.  Besides,  he  had  all  a  doctor's 
dislike  of  those  terrors  of  the  unseen  world  with 
which  some  men  are  wont  to  oppress  still  more 
failing  nature,  and  break  the  bruised  reed.  His 
business  was  to  cure  his  patients'  bodies ;  and  if 
he  could  not  do  that,  at  least  to  see  that  life  was 


378  Two  Years  Ago 

not  shortened  in  them  by  nervous  depression  and 
anxiety.  Accustomed  to  see  men  of  every  char- 
acter die  under  every  possible  circumstance,  he 
had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  the  "  safety  of  a 
man's  soul  "  could  by  no  possibility  be  inferred 
from  his  death-bed  temper.  The  vast  majority, 
good  or  bad,  died  in  peace ;  why  not  let  them  die 
so  ?  If  nature  kindly  took  off  the  edge  of  sorrow, 
by  blunting  the  nervous  system,  what  right  had 
man  to  interfere  with  so  merciful  an  arrangement? 
Every  man,  he  held  in  his  easy  optimism,  would 
go  where  he  ought  to  go ;  and  it  could  be  no  pos- 
sible good  to  him  —  indeed,  it  might  be  a  very 
bad  thing  for  him,  as  in  this  life  —  to  go  where  he 
ought  not  to  go.  So  he  used  to  argue,  with  three- 
fourths  of  mankind,  mingling  truth  and  falsehood ; 
and  would,  on  these  grounds,  have  done  his  best 
to  turn  the  dissenting  preacher  out  of  that  house, 
had  he  found  him  in  it.  But  to-day  he  was  in  a 
more  lenient,  perhaps  in  a  more  human,  and 
therefore  more  spiritual  mood.  It  was  all  very 
well  for  him,  full  of  life,  and  power,  and  hope,  to 
look  on  death  in  that  cold,  careless  way ;  but  for 
that  poor  young  thing,  cut  off  just  as  life  opened 
from  all  that  made  life  lovely  —  was  not  death  for 
her  a  painful,  ugly  anomaly?  Could  she  be  blamed, 
if  she  shuddered  at  going  forth  into  the  unknown 
blank,  she  knew  not  whither?  All  very  well  for 
the  old  emperor  of  Rome,  who  had  lived  his  life 
and  done  his  work,  to  play  with  the  dreary 
question  — 

"  Animula,  vagula,  blandula, 
Hospes  comesque  corporis, 
Quae  nunc  abibis  in  loca, 
Rigidula,  nudula,  pallida?—  M 


The  Doctor  at  Bay  379 

But  she,  who  had  lived  no  life,  and  done  no 
work  —  only  had  pined  through  weary  years  of 
hideous  suffering;  crippled  and  ulcerated  with 
scrofula,  now  dying  of  consumption;  was  it  not 
a  merciful  dream,  a  beautiful  dream,  a  just  dream 

—  so  beautiful  and  just  that  perhaps  it  might  be 
true — that  in  some  fairer  world,  all  this,  and  more, 
might  be  made  up  to  her?     If  not,  was  it  not  a 
mistake  and  an  injustice,  that  she  should  ever  have 
come  into  the  world  at  all  ?     And  was  not  Grace 
doing  a  rational  as  well  as  a  loving  work,  in  telling 
her,  under  whatever  symbols,  that  such  a  home  of 
rest  and   beauty  awaited   her?     It  was    not   the 
sort  of  place  to  which  he  expected,  perhaps  even 
wished,  to    go ;    but   it  fitted  well  enough  with  a 
young  girl's  hopes,  a  young  girl's  powers  of  enjoy- 
ment.    Let  it  be ;  perhaps  there  was  such  a  place 

—  why  not  ?  —  fitted  for  St.  Dorothea,  and  those 
cut  off  in  youth  like  her ;  and  other  places  fit  for 
such  as  he.     And  he   spoke  more  tenderly  than 
usual  (though  he  was  never  untender),  as  he  said: 

"And  you  feel  better  to-day?  I  am  sure  you 
must,  with  such  a  kind  friend  to  tell  you  such 
sweet  tales." 

"  I  do  not  feel  better,  thank  you.  And  why 
should  I  wish  to  do  so  ?  You  all  take  too  much 
trouble  about  me ;  why  do  you  want  to  keep  me 
here?" 

"  We  are  loth  to  lose  you ;  and  besides,  while 
you  can  be  kept  here,  it  is  a  sign  that  you  ought 
to  be  here." 

"  So  Grace  tells  me.     Yes,  I  will  be  patient, 
and  wait  till  He  has  done  His  work.     I  am  more 
patient  now;  am  I  not,  Grace?"    And  she  fondled 
Grace's  hand,  and  looked  up  in  her  face. 
:VoL  10— Q 


380  Two  Years  Ago 

"  Yes,"  said  Grace,  who  was  standing  near,  with 
downcast  face,  trying  to  avoid  Tom's  eye.  "  Yes, 
you  are  very  good;  but  you  must  not  talk;  "  but 
the  girl  went  on,  with  kindling  eye : 

"  Ah  !  I  was  very  fretful  at  first,  because  I  could 
not  go  to  heaven  at  once ;  but  Grace  showed  me 
how  it  was  good  to  be  here,  as  well  as  there,  as 
long  as  He  thought  that  I  might  be  made  per- 
fect by  sufferings.  And  since  then  my  pain  has 
become  quite  pleasant  to  me,  and  I  am  ready  to 
wait  and  bear  —  wait  and  bear." 

"  You  must  not  talk ;  see,  you  are  beginning  to 
cough,"  said  Tom,  who  wished  somehow  to  stop 
a  form  of  thought  which  so  utterly  puzzled  him. 
Not  that  he  had  not  heard  it  before;  common- 
place enough  indeed  it  is,  thank  God;  but  that 
day  the  words  came  home  to  him  with  spirit  and 
power,  all  the  more  solemnly  from  their  contrast 
with  the  scene  around  —  without,  all  sunshine,  joy, 
and  glory,  all  which  could  tempt  a  human  being 
to  linger  here ;  and  within,  that  young  girl  longing 
to  leave  it  all,  and  yet  content  to  stay  and  suffer. 
What  mysteries  there  were  in  the  human  spirit  — 
mysteries  to  which  that  knowledge  of  mankind  on 
which  he  prided  himself  gave  him  no  key. 

"What  if  I  were  laid  on  my  back  to-morrow 
for  life,  by  a  fall,  a  blow,  as  I  have  seen  many  a 
better  man  than  me,  should  I  not  wish  to  have  one 
to  talk  to  me,  as  she  was  talking  to  that  child?" 
And  for  a  moment  a  yearning  after  Grace  came 
over  him,  as  it  had  done  before,  and  swept  from 
his  mind  the  dark  cloud  of  suspicion. 

"  Now  I  must  talk  with  your  mother,"  said  he, 
"  for  you  have  better  company  than  mine,  and  I 
hear  her  just  coming  in." 


The  Doctor  at  Bay  381 

He  settled  little  matters  for  his  patient's  comfort 
with  the  farmer's  wife.  When  he  returned  to  bid 
her  good-bye  Grace  was  gone. 

"  I  hope  I  have  not  driven  her  away." 

"  Oh  no ;  she  had  been  here  an  hour,  and  she 
must  go  back  now,  to  get  her  mother's  supper." 

"That  is  a  good  girl,"  said  Tom,  looking  after 
her  as  she  went  down  the  field. 

"  She 's  an  angel  from  heaven,  sir.  Not  a  three 
days  go  over  without  her  walking  up  here  all  this 
way  after  her  work  to  comfort  my  poor  maid,  and 
all  of  us  as  well.  It 's  like  the  dew  of  heaven 
upon  us.  Pity,  sir,  you  did  n't  see  her  home." 

"  I  should  have  liked  it  well  enough ;  but  folks 
might  talk,  if  two  young  people  were  seen  walking 
together  Sunday  evening." 

"  Oh,  sir,  they  know  her  too  well  by  now,  for 
miles  round,  and  you  too,  sir,  I  '11  make  bold  to  say." 

"  Well,  at  least  I  '11  go  after  her." 

So  Tom  went,  and  kept  Grace  in  sight  till  she 
had  crossed  the  little  moor,  and  disappeared  in 
the  wood  below. 

He  had  gone  about  an  hundred  yards  into  the 
wood,  when  he  heard  voices  and  laughter,  then 
a  loud  shriek.  He  hurried  forward.  In  another 
minute,  Grace  rushed  up  to  him,  her  eyes  wide 
with  terror  and  indignation. 

"What  is  it?"  cried  he,  trying  to  stop  her,  but, 
not  seeming  to  see  him,  she  dashed  past  him,  and 
ran  on.  Another  moment,  and  a  man  appeared 
in  full  pursuit. 

It  was  Trebooze,  of  Trebooze,  an  evil  laugh 
upon  his  face. 

Tom  planted  himself  across  the  narrow  path  in 
an  attitude  which  there  was  no  mistaking. 


382  Two  Years  Ago 

Not  a  word  passed  between  them.  Silently  and 
instinctively,  like  two  fierce  dogs,  the  two  men 
flew  upon  each  other;  Tom  full  of  righteous 
wrath,  and  Trebooze  of  half-drunken  passion, 
turned  to  fury  by  the  interruption. 

He  was  a  far  taller  and  heavier  man  than 
Thurnall,  and,  as  the  bully  of  the  neighborhood, 
counted  on  an  easy  victory.  But  he  was  mistaken. 
After  the  first  rush  was  over,  he  found  it  im- 
possible to  close  with  his  foe,  and  saw  in  the 
doctor's  face,  now  grown  cool  and  business-like 
as  usual,  the  wily  smile  of  superior  science  and 
expected  triumph. 

"  Brandy-and-water  in  the  morning  ought  not 
to  improve  the  wind,"  said  Tom  to  himself,  as  his 
left  hand  countered  provokingly,  while  his  right 
rattled  again  and  again  upon  Trebooze's  watch- 
chain.  "  Justice  will  overtake  you  in  the  offending 
part,  which. I  take  to  be  the  epigastric  region." 

In  a  few  minutes  more  the  scuffle  ended  shame- 
fully enough  for  the  sottish  squireen. 

Tom  stood  over  him  for  a  minute,  as  he  sat 
grovelling  and  groaning  among  the  long  grass. 
"  I  miy  as  we^  see  ^at  I  have  not  killed  him. 
No,  he  will  do  as  well  as  ever  —  which  is  not  say- 
ing much.  .  .  .  Now,  sir !  Go  home  quietly,  and 
ask  Mrs.  Trebooze  for  a  little  rhubarb  and  sal- 
volatile.  I  '11  call  up  in  the  course  of  to-morro\v 
to  see  how  you  are." 

"  I  '11  kill  you,  if  I  catch  you  !  " 

"  As  a  man,  I  am  open  of  course  to  be  killed  by 
any  fair  means :  but  as  a  doctor,  I  am  still  bound 
to  see  after  my  patient's  health."  And  Tom  bowed 
civilly,  and  walked  back  up  the  path  to  find  Grace, 
after  washing  his  lace  and  hands  in  the  brook. 


The  Doctor  at  Bay  383 

He  found  her  up  at  Tolchard's  farm,  trembling 
and  thankful. 

"  I  cannot  do  less  than  see  Miss  Harvey  safe 
home." 

Grace  hesitated. 

"Mrs.  Tolchard,  I  am  sure,  will  walk  with  us; 
it  would  be  safer,  in  case  you  felt  faint  again." 

But  Mrs.  Tolchard  would  not  come  to  save 
Grace's  notions  of  propriety;  so  Tom  passed 
Grace's  arm  through  his  own.  She  offered  to 
withdraw  it. 

"  No ;  you  will  require  it.  You  do  not  know 
yet  how  much  you  have  gone  through.  My  fear 
is,  that  you  will  feel  it  all  the  more  painfully  when 
the  excitement  is  past.  I  shall  send  you  up  a 
cordial ;  and  you  must  promise  me  to  take  it. 
You  owe  me  a  little  debt  you  know,  to-day;  you 
must  pay  it  by  taking  my  medicines." 

Grace  looked  up  at  him  sidelong ;  for  there  was 
a  playful  tenderness  in  his  voice  which  was  new  to 
her,  and  which  thrilled  her  through  and  through. 

"  I  will  indeed,  I  promise  you.  But  I  am  so 
much  better  now.  Really,  I  can  walk  alone ! " 
And  she  withdrew  her  arm  from  his,  but  not 
hastily. 

After  that  they  walked  on  a  while  in  silence. 
Grace  kept  her  veil  down,  for  her  eyes  were  full 
of  tears.  She  loved  that  man  intensely,  utterly. 
She  did  not  seek  to  deny  it  to  herself.  God  had 
given  him  to  her,  and  hers  he  was.  The  very  sea, 
the  devourer  whom  she  hated,  who  hungered  to 
swallow  up  all  young  fair  life,  the  very  sea  had 
yielded  him  up  to  her,  alive  from  the  dead.  And 
yet  that  man,  she  knew,  suspected  her  of  a  base 
and  hateful  crime.  It  was  too  dreadful  1  She 


384  Two  Years  Ago 

could  not  exculpate  herself,  save  by  blank  denial 
—  and  what  would  that  avail?  The  large  hot  drops 
ran  down  her  cheeks.  She  had  need  of  all  her 
strength  to  prevent  sobbing. 

She  looked  round.  In  the  bright  summer  even- 
ing, all  things  were  full  of  joy  and  love.  The 
hedge-banks  were  gay  as  flower  gardens ;  the 
swifts  chased  each  other,  screaming  harsh  delight ; 
the  ring-dove  murmured  in  the  wood  beneath  his 
world-old  song,  which  she  had  taught  the  children 
a  hundred  times  — 

"  Curuckity  coo,  curuck  coo ; 
You  love  me,  and  I  love  you  !  n 

The  woods  slept  golden  in  the  evening  sunlight ; 
and  overhead  brooded,  like  one  great  smile  of 
God,  the  everlasting  blue. 

"  He  will  right  me  ! "  she  said.  "  '  Hold  thee 
still  in  the  Lord,  and  abide  patiently,  and  He  will 
make  thy  righteousness  clear  as  the  light,  and  thy 
just  dealing  as  the  noon-day ! ' '  And  after  that 
thought  she  wept  no  more. 

Was  it  as  a  reward  for  her  faith  that  Tom  began 
to  talk  to  her?  He  had  paced  on  by  her  side, 
serious,  but  not  sad.  True,  he  had  suspected  her ; 
he  suspected  her  still.  But  that  scene  with  the 
dying  child  had  been  no  sham.  There,  at  least, 
there  was  nothing  to  suspect,  nothing  to  sneer  at. 
The  calm  purity,  self-sacrifice,  hope,  which  was 
contained  in  it,  had  softened  his  world-hardened 
spirit,  and  woke  up  in  him  feelings  which  were 
always  pleasant,  feelings  which  the  sight  of  his 
father,  or  the  writing  to  his  father,  could  only 
awaken.  Quaintly  enough,  the  thought  of  Grace 
and  of  his  father  seemed  intertwined,  inextricable. 


The  Doctor  at  Bay  385 

If  the  old  man  had  but  such  a  nurse  as  she  !  And 
for  a  moment  he  felt  a  glow  of  tenderness  toward 
her,  because  he  thought  she  would  be  tender  to 
his  father.  She  had  stolen  his  money,  certainly; 
or,  if  not,  she  knew  where  it  was,  and  would  not 
tell  him.  Well,  what  matter  just  then?  He  did 
not  want  the  money  at  that  minute.  How  much 
pleasanter  and  wiser  to  take  things  as  they  came, 
and  enjoy  himself  while  he  could ;  and  fancy  that 
she  was  always  what  he  had  seen  her  that  day. 
After  all,  it  was  much  more  pleasant  to  trust  peo- 
ple than  to  suspect  them :  "  Handsome  is  who 
handsome  does !  And  besides,  she  did  me  the 
kindness  of  saving  my  life ;  so  it  would  but  be 
civil  to  talk  to  her  a  little." 

He  began  to  talk  to  her  about  the  lovely  scene 
around ;  and  found,  to  his  surprise,  that  she  saw 
as  much  of  it  as  he,  and  saw  a  great  deal  more 
in  it  than  he.  Her  answers  were  short,  modest, 
faltering ;  but  each  one  of  them  suggestive ;  and 
Tom  soon  found  that  he  had  met  with  a  mind 
which  contained  all  the  elements  of  poetry,  and 
needed  only  education  to  develop  them. 

"  What  a  blue  stocking,  pre-Raphaelite,  seventh- 
heavenarian  she  would  have  been,  if  she  had  had 
the  misfortune  to  be  born  in  that  station  of  life !  " 
But  where  a  clever  man  is  talking  to  a  beautiful 
woman,  talk  he  will,  and  must,  for  the  mere  sake 
of  showing  off,  though  she  be  but  a  village  school- 
mistress; and  Tom  soon  found  himself,  with  a 
secret  sneer  at  his  own  vanity,  displaying  before 
her  all  the  much  finer  things  that  he  had  seen 
in  his  travels;  and  as  he  talked,  she  answered, 
with  quiet  expressions  of  wonder,  sympathy,  regret 
at  her  own  narrow  sphere  of  experience,  till,  as  if 


386  Two  Years  Ago 

the  truth  was  not  enough,  he  found  himself  run- 
ning to  the  very  edge  of  exaggeration,  and  a  little 
over  it,  in  the  enjoyment  of  calling  out  her  passion 
for  the  marvellous,  especially  when  called  out  in 
honor  of  himself. 

And  she,  simple  creature,  drank  it  all  in  as 
sparkling  wine,  and  only  dreaded  lest  the  stream 
should  cease.  Adventures  with  noble  savages  in 
palm-fringed  coral-islands,  with  greedy  robbers 
amid  the  fragrant  hills  of  Greece,  with  fierce 
Indians  beneath  the  snow-peaks  of  the  far  West, 
with  coward  Mexicans  among  tunals  of  cactus  and 
agave,  beneath  the  burning  tropic  sun  —  What  a 
man  he  was !  Where  had  he  not  been  ?  and  what 
had  he  not  seen?  And  how  he  had  been  pre- 
served—  for  her?  And  his  image  seemed  to  her 
utterly  beautiful  and  glorious,  clothed  as  it  was  in 
the  beauty  and  glory  of  all  that  he  had  seen,  and 
done,  and  suffered.  O  Love,  Love,  Love,  the  same 
in  peasant  and  in  peer !  The  more  honor  to  you, 
then,  old  Love,  to  be  the  same  thing  in  this  world 
which  is  common  to  peasant  and  to  peer.  They 
say  that  you  are  blind ;  a  dreamer,  an  exaggerator 
—  a  liar,  in  short.  They  know  just  nothing  about 
you,  then.  You  will  not  see  people  as  they  seem, 
and  as  they  have  become,  no  doubt:  but  why? 
because  you  see  them  as  they  ought  to  be,  and  are, 
in  some  deep  way,  eternally,  in  the  sight  of  Him 
who  conceived  and  created  them. 

At  last  she  started,  as  if  waking  from  a  pleasant 
dream,  and  spoke,  half  to  herself: 

"  Oh,  how  foolish  of  me  —  to  be  idling  away 
this  opportunity ;  the  only  one,  perhaps,  which  I 
may  have !  O  Mr.  Thurnall,  tell  me  about  this 
cholera!" 


The  Doctor  at  Bay  387 

"What  about  it?" 

"  Everything.  Ever  since  I  heard  of  what  you 
have  been  saying  to  the  people,  ever  since  Mr. 
Headley's  sermon,  it  has  been  like  fire  in  my 
ears !  " 

"  I  am  truly  glad  to  hear  it.  If  all  parsons  had 
preached  about  it  for  the  last  fifteen  years  as  Mr. 
Headley  did  last  Sunday,  if  they  had  told  people 
plainly  that,  if  the  cholera  was  God's  judgment  at 
all,  it  was  His  judgment  of  the  sin  of  dirt,  and  that 
the  repentance  which  He  required  was  to  wash  and 
be  clean  in  literal  earnest,  the  cholera  would  be 
impossible  in  England  by  now." 

"O  Mr.  Thurnall:  but  is  it  not  God's  doing? 
and  can  we  stop  His  hand  ? " 

"  I  know  nothing  about  that,  Miss  Harvey.  I 
only  know  that  wheresoever  cholera  breaks  out,  it 
is  some  one's  fault :  and  if  deaths  occur,  some  one 
ought  to  be  tried  for  manslaughter  —  I  had  almost 
said  murder  —  and  transported  for  life." 

"Someone?     Who?" 

"That  will  be  settled  in  the  next  generation, 
when  men  have  common  sense  enough  to  make 
laws  for  the  preservation  of  their  own  lives,  against 
the  dirt,  and  covetousness,  and  idleness,  of  a  set 
of  human  hogs." 

Grace  was  silent  for  a  while. 

"But  can  nothing  be  done  to  keep  it  off  now? 
Must  it  come?" 

"  I  believe  it  must.  Still,  one  may  do  enough 
to  save  many  lives  in  the  meanwhile." 

"  Enough  to  save  many  lives  —  lives?  —  immor- 
tal souls,  too?  Oh,  what  could  I  do?" 

"  A  great  deal,  Miss  Harvey,"  said  Tom,  across 
whom  the  recollection  of  Grace's  influence  flashed 


388  Two  Years  Ago 

for  the  first  time.  What  a  help  she  might  be  to 
him ! 

And  he  talked  on  and  on  to  her,  and  found  that 
she  entered  into  his  plans  with  all  her  wild  enthu- 
siasm, but  also  with  sound  practical  common  sense ; 
and  Tom  began  to  respect  her  intellect  as  well  as 
her  heart. 

At  last,  however,  she  faltered : 

"  Oh,  if  I  could  but  believe  all  this !  Is  it  not 
fighting  against  God  ?  " 

*'  I  do  not  know  what  sort  of  God  yours  is,  Miss 
Harvey.  I  believe  in  some  One  who  made  all 
that !  "  and  he  pointed  round  him  to  the  glorious 
woods  and  glorious  sky ;  "  I  should  have  fancied 
from  your  speech  to  that  poor  girl,  that  you  be- 
lieved in  Him  also.  You  may,  however,  only  be- 
lieve in  the  same  being  in  whom  the  Methodist 
parson  believes,  one  who  intends  to  hurl  into  end- 
less agony  every  human  being  who  has  not  had 
a  chance  of  hearing  the  said  preacher's  nostrum 
for  delivering  men  out  of  the  hands  of  Him  who 
made  them !  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  asked  Grace,  startled 
alike  by  Tom's  words,  and  the  intense  scorn  and 
bitterness  of  his  tone. 

"That  matters  little.  What  do  you  mean  in 
turn?  What  did  you  mean  by  saying  that  saving 
lives  is  saving  immortal  souls?  " 

"  Oh,  is  it  not  giving  them  time  to  repent? 
What  will  become  of  them,  if  they  are  cut  off  in 
the  midst  of  their  sins?  " 

"  If  you  had  a  son  whom  it  was  not  convenient 
to  you  to  keep  at  home,  would  his  being  a  bad 
fellow  —  the  greatest  scoundrel  on  the  earth  —  be 
a  reason  for  your  turning  him  into  the  streets  to 


The  Doctor  at  Bay  389 

live  by  thieving,  and  end  by  going  to  the  dogs  for 
ever  and  a  day  ?  " 

"  No ;  but  what  do  you  mean?  " 

"  That  I  do  not  think  that  God,  when  He  sends  a 
human  being  out  of  this  world,  is  more  cruel  than 
you  or  I  would  be.  If  we  transport  a  man  because 
he  is  too  bad  to  be  in  England,  and  he  shows  any 
signs  of  mending,  we  give  him  a  fresh  chance  in 
the  colonies,  and  let  him  start  again,  to  try  if  he 
cannot  do  better  next  time.  And  do  you  fancy 
that  God,  when  He  transports  a  man  out  of  this 
world,  never  gives  him  a  fresh  chance  in  another 
—  especially  when  nine  out  of  ten  poor  rascals 
have  never  had  a  fair  chance  yet?" 

Grace  looked  up  in  his  face  astonished. 

"  Oh,  if  I  could  but  believe  that !  Oh  !  it  would 

give  me  some  gleam  of  hope  for  my  two ! 

But  no  —  it's  not  in  Scripture.  Where  the  tree 
falls  there  it  lies." 

"  And  as  the  fool  dies,  so  dies  the  wise  man ;  and 
there  is  one  account  to  the  righteous  and  to  the 
wicked.  And  a  man  has  no  pre-eminence  over  a 
beast,  for  both  turn  alike  to  dust;  and  Solomon 
does  not  know,  he  says,  or  any  one  else,  anything 
about  the  whole  matter,  or  even  whether  there  be 
any  life  after  death  at  all;  and  so,  he  says,  the 
only  wise  thing  is  to  leave  such  deep  questions 
alone,  for  Him  who  made  us  to  settle  in  His  own 
way,  and  just  to  fear  God  and  keep  His  command- 
ments, and  do  the  Work  which  lies  nearest  us  with 
all  our  might." 

Grace  was  silent. 

"  You  are  surprised  to  hear  me  quote  Scripture, 
and  well  you  may  be:  but  that  same  Book  of 
Ecclesiastes  is  a  very  old  favorite  with  me ;  for  I 


390  Two  Years  Ago 

am  no  Christian,  but  a  worldling,  if  ever  there  was 
one.  But  it  does  puzzle  me  why  you,  who  are  a 
Christian,  should  talk  one  half-hour  as  you  have 
been  talking  to  that  poor  girl,  and  the  next  go  for 
information  about  the  next  life  to  poor  old  disap- 
pointed, broken-hearted  Solomon,  with  his  three 
hundred  and  odd  idolatrous  wives,  who  confesses 
fairly  that  this  life  is  a  failure,  and  that  he  does  not 
know  whether  there  is  any  next  life  at  all." 

Whether  Tom  were  altogether  right  or  not,  is 
not  the  question  here ;  the  novelist's  business  is  to 
represent  the  real  thoughts  of  mankind,  when  they 
are  not  absolutely  unfit  to  be  told ;  and  certainly 
Tom  spoke  the  doubts  of  thousands  when  he  spoke 
his  own. 

Grace  was  silent  still. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  beyond  that  I  can't  go,  being 
no  theologian.  But  when  a  preacher  tells  people 
in  one  breath  of  a  God  who  so  loves  men  that  He 
gave  His  own  Son  to  save  them,  and  in  the  next, 
that  the  same  God  so  hates  men  that  He  will  cast 
nine-tenths  of  them  into  hopeless  torture  for  ever 
(and  if  that  is  not  hating,  I  don't  know  what  is), 
unless  he,  the  preacher,  gets  a  chance  of  talking  to 
them  for  a  few  minutes  —  Why,  I  should  like,  Miss 
Harvey,  to  put  that  gentleman  upon  a  real  fire  for 
ten  minutes,  instead  of  his  comfortable  Sunday's 
dinner,  which  stands  ready  frying  for  him,  and 
which  he  was  going  home  to  eat,  as  jolly  as  if  all 
the  world  was  not  going  to  destruction ;  and  there 
let  him  feel  what  fire  was  like,  and  reconsider  his 
statements." 

Grace  looked  up  at  him  no  more :  but  walked  on 
in  silence,  pondering  many  things. 

"  Howsoever  that  may  be,  sir,  tell  me  what  to  do 


The  Doctor  at  Bay  391 

in  this  cholera,  and  I  will  do  it,  if  I  kill  myself  with 
work  or  infection  !  " 

"  You  sha'n't  do  that.  We  cannot  spare  you 
from  Aberalva,  Grace,"  said  Tom :  "  you  must 
save  a  few  more  poor  creatures  ere  you  die,  out  of 
the  hands  of  that  Good  Being  who  made  little 
children,  and  love,  and  happiness,  and  the  flowers, 
and  the  sunshine,  and  the  fruitful  earth ;  and  who, 
you  say,  redeemed  them  all  again,  when  they  were 
lost,  by  an  act  of  love  which  passes  all  human 
dreams." 

"  Do  not  talk  so  !  "  cried  Grace.  "  It  frightens 
me ;  it  puzzles  me,  and  makes  me  miserable.  Oh, 
if  you  would  but  become  a  Christian  !  " 

"  And  listen  to  the  gospel  ?  " 

«  Yes  —  oh  yes  !  " 

"  A  gospel  means  good  news,  I  thought.  When 
you  have  any  to  tell  me,  I  will  listen.  Meanwhile, 
the  news  that  three  out  of  four  of  those  poor  fellows 
down  town  are  going  to  a  certain  place,  seems  to 
me  such  terribly  bad  news,  that  I  can't  help  fancy- 
ing that  it  is  not  the  gospel  at  all ;  and  so  get  on 
the  best  way  I  can,  listening  to  the  good  news  about 
God  which  this  grand  old  world,  and  my  micro- 
scope, and  my  books,  tell  me.  No,  Grace,  I  have 
more  good  news  than  that,  and  I  '11  confess  it  to 
you." 

He  paused,  and  his  voice  softened. 

"  Say  what  the  preacher  may,  He  must  be  a 
good  God  who  makes  such  creatures  as  you,  and 
sends  them  into  the  world  to  comfort  poor  wretches. 
Follow  your  own  sweet  heart,  Grace,  and  torment 
yourself  no  more  with  these  dark  dreams !  " 

"My  heart?"  cried  she,  looking  down;  "it  is 
deceitful  and  desperately  wicked." 


392  Two  Years  Ago 

"  I  wish  mine  were  too,  then,"  said  Tom ;  "  but 
it  cannot  be,  as  long  as  it  is  so  unlike  yours.  Now 
stop,  Grace,  I  want  to  speak  to  you." 

There  was  a  gate  in  front  of  them,  leading  into 
the  road. 

As  they  came  to  it,  Tom  lingered  with  his  hand 
upon  the  top  bar,  that  Grace  might  stop.  She  did 
stop,  half  frightened.  Why  did  he  call  her  Grace? 

"  I  wish  to  speak  to  you  on  one  matter,  on 
which  I  believe  I  ought  to  have  spoken  long 
ago." 

She  looked  up  at  him,  surprise  in  her  large  eyes ; 
and  turned  pale  as  he  went  on. 

"  I  ought  long  ago  to  have  begged  your  pardon 
for  something  rude  which  I  said  to  you  at  your 
own  door.  This  day  has  made  me  quite  ashamed 
of " 

But  she  interrupted  him,  quite  wildly,  gasping 
for  breath. 

"  The  belt?  The  belt?  Oh  my  God  !  my  God  ! 
Have  you  heard  anything  more? — anything 
more?  " 

"  Not  a  word ;  but " 

To  his  astonishment,  she  heaved  a  deep  sigh,  as 
if  relieved  from  a  sudden  fear.  His  face  clouded, 
and  his  eyebrows  rose.  Was  she  guilty,  then, 
after  all? 

With  the  quick  eyes  of  love,  she  saw  the  change; 
and  broke  out  passionately : 

"  Yes ;  suspect  me !  suspect  me,  if  you  will ! 
only  give  me  time !  send  me  to  prison,  innocent 
as  I  am  —  as  innocent  as  that  child  there  above  — 
would  God  I  were  dying  like  her !  Only  give  me 
time  !  O  misery !  I  had  hoped  you  had  forgotten  — 
that  it  was  lost  in  the  sea — that — what  am  I  saying? 


The  Doctor  at  Bay  393 

Only  give  me  time !  "  and  she  dropped  on  her 
knees  before  him,  wringing  her  hands. 

"  Miss  Harvey !  This  is  not  worthy  of  you. 
If  you  be  innocent,  as  I  don't  doubt,  what  more 
do  you  need  —  or  I  ?  " 

He  took  her  hands,  and  lifted  her  up ;  but  she 
still  kept  looking  down,  round,  upwards,  like  a 
hunted  deer,  and  pleading  in  words  which  seemed 
sobbed  out  —  as  by  some  poor  soul  on  the  rack  — 
between  choking  spasms  of  agony. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know  —  God  help  me !  O  Lord, 
help  me  !  I  will  try  and  find  it  —  I  know  I  shall 
find  it !  only  have  patience ;  have  patience  with  me 
a  little,  and  I  know  I  shall  bring  it  you ;  and  then 
—  and  then  you  will  forgive  ?  —  forgive  ?  " 

And  she  laid  her  hands  upon  his  arms,  and 
looked  up  in  his  face  with  a  piteous  smile  of 
entreaty. 

She  had  never  looked  so  beautiful  as  at  that 
moment.  The  devil  saw  it ;  and  entered  into  the 
heart  of  Thomas  Thurnall.  He  caught  her  in  his 
arms,  kissed  away  her  tears,  stopped  her  mouth 
with  kisses.  "  Yes !  I  '11  wait  —  wait  for  ever,  if 
you  will !  I  '11  lose  another  belt,  for  such  another 
look  as  that !  " 

She  was  bewildered  for  a  moment,  poor  fond 
wretch,  at  finding  herself  where  she  would  gladly 
have  stayed  for  ever ;  but  quickly  she  recovered 
her  reason. 

"  Let  me  go  !  "  she  cried,  struggling.  "  This  is 
not  right !  Let  me  go,  sir !  "  and  she  tried  to  cover 
her  burning  cheeks  with  her  hands. 

"  I  will  not,  Grace !  I  love  you  !  I  love  you, 
I  tell  you  !  " 

"  You  do  not,  sir !  "  and  she  struggled  still  more 


394  Two  Years  Ago 

fiercely.  "  Do  not  deceive  yourself !  Me  you 
cannot  deceive !  Let  me  go,  I  say !  You  could 
not  demean  yourself  to  love  a  poor  girl  like  me  !  " 

Utterly  losing  his  head,  Tom  ran  on  with 
passionate  words. 

"  No,  sir !  you  know  that  I  am  not  fit  to  be  your 
wife;  and  do  you  fancy  that  I " 

Maddened  now,  Tom  went  on,  ere  he  was  aware, 
from  a  foolish  deed  to  a  base  speech. 

"  I  know  nothing,  but  that  I  shall  keep  you  in 
pawn  for  my  belt.  Till  that  is  at  least  restored, 
you  are  in  my  power,  Grace  !  Remember  that !  " 

She  thrust  him  away  with  so  sudden  and  des- 
perate a  spasm,  that  he  was  forced  to  let  her  go. 
She  stood  gazing  at  him,  a  trembling  deer  no 
longer,  but  rather  a  lioness  at  bay,  her  face  flash- 
ing beautiful  indignation. 

"  In  your  power  !  Yes,  sir !  My  character,  my 
life,  for  aught  I  know ;  but  not  my  soul.  Send  me 
to  Bodmin  jail  if  you  will;  but  offer  no  more 
insults  to  a  modest  maiden  !  Oh !  "  —  and  her 
expression  changed  to  one  of  lofty  sorrow  and 
pity  —  "  Oh !  to  find  all  men  alike  at  heart !  After 
having  fancied  you  —  fancied  you  "  (what  she  had 
fancied  him  her  woman's  modesty  dare  not  repeat) 
— "  to  find  you  even  such  another  as  Mr.  Tre- 
booze !  " 

Tom  was  checked.  As  for  mere  indignation,  in 
such  cases,  he  had  seen  enough  of  that  to  trust  it 
no  more  than  "  ice  that  is  one  night  old ;  "  but 
pity  for  him  was  a  weapon  of  defence  to  which  he 
was  unaccustomed.  And  there  was  no  contempt  in 
her  pity,  and  no  affectation  either.  Her  voice  was 
solemn,  but  tender,  gently  upbraiding,  like  her 
countenance.  Never  had  he  felt  Grace's  mysteri- 


The  Doctor  at  Bay  395 

ous  attraction  so  strong  upon  him ;  and  for  the 
first  and  last  time,  perhaps,  for  many  a  year,  he 
answered  with  downcast  eyes  of  shame. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Miss  Harvey.  I  have  been 
rude  —  mad.  If  you  will  look  in  your  glass  when 
you  go  home,  and  have  a  woman's  heart  in  you, 
you  may  at  least  see  an  excuse  for  me ;  but  like 
Mr.  Trebooze  I  am  not.  -  Forgive  and  forget,  and 
let  us  walk  home  rationally."  And  he  offered  to 
take  her  hand. 

"  No :  not  now  !  Not  till  I  can  trust  you,  sir !  " 
said  she.  The  words  were  lofty  enough;  but 
there  was  a  profound  melancholy  in  their  tone 
which  humbled  Tom  still  more.  Was  it  possible 
—  she  seemed  to  have  hinted  it  —  that  she  had 
thought  him  a  very  grand  personage  till  now,  and 
that  he  had  disgraced  himself  in  her  eyes? 

If  a  man  had  suspected  Tom  of  such  a  feeling,  I 
fear  he  would  have  cared  little,  save  how  to  restore 
the  balance  by  making  a  fool  of  the  man  who 
fancied  him  a  fool ;  but  no  male  self-sufficiency  or 
pride  is  proof  against  the  contempt  of  woman ;  and 
Tom  slunk  along  by  the  schoolmistress'  side,  as  if 
he  had  been  one  of  her  naughtiest  school-children. 
He  tried,  of  course,  to  brazen  it  out  to  his  own 
conscience.  He  had  done  no  harm,  after  all;  in- 
deed, never  seriously  meant  any.  She  was  making 
a  ridiculous  fuss  about  nothing.  It  was  all  part 
and  parcel  of  her  methodistical  cant.  He  dared 
say  that  she  was  not  as  prudish  with  the  Methodist 
parson.  And  at  that  base  thought  he  paused ;  for 
a  flush  of  rage,  and  a  strong  desire  on  such 
hypothesis  to  slay  the  said  Methodist  parson,  or  any 
one  else  who  dared  even  to  look  sweet  on  Grace, 
showed  him  plainly  enough  what  he  had  long  been 


396  Two  Years  Ago 

afraid  of,  that  he  was  really  in  love  with  her;  and 
that,  as  he  put  it,  if  she  did  not  make  a  fool  of 
herself  about  him,  he  was  but  too  likely  to  end  in 
making  a  fool  of  himself  about  her.  However,  he 
must  speak,  to  support  his  own  character  as  a  man 
of  the  world,  —  it  would  never  do  to  knock  under 
to  a  country  girl  in  this  way,  —  she  might  go  and 
boast  of  it  all  over  the  town,  —  besides,  foiled  or 
not,  he  would  not  give  in  without  trying  her  mettle 
somewhat  further. 

"  Miss  Harvey,  will  you  forgive  me?" 

"  I  have  forgiven  you." 

"Will  you  forget?" 

"  If  I  can  !  "  she  said,  with  a  marked  expression, 
which  signified  (though,  of  course,  she  did  not 
mean  Tom  to  understand  it),  "some  of  what  is 
past  is  too  precious,  and  some  too  painful,  to 
forget." 

"I  do  not  ask  you  to  forget  all  which  has 
passed !  " 

"  I  am  afraid  that  there  is  nothing  which  would 
be  any  credit  to  you,  sir,  to  have  remembered." 

"  Credit  or  none,"  said  Tom,  unabashed,  "  do 
not  forget  one  word  that  I  said." 

She  looked  hastily  and  sidelong  round,  —  "  That 
I  am  in  your  power?" 

"No!  curse  it!  I  wish  I  had  bitten  out  my 
tongue  before  I  had  said  that.  No !  that  I  am  in 
your  power,  Miss  Harvey." 

"  Sir !  I  never  heard  you  say  that ;  and  if  you 
had,  the  sooner  anything  so  untrue  is  forgotten  the 
better." 

"  I  said  that  I  loved  you,  Grace ;  and  if  that 
does  not  mean  that " 

"  Sir !    Mr.  Thurnall !    I  cannot,  I  will  not  hear ! 


The  Doctor  at  Bay  397 

You  only  insult  me,  sir,  by  speaking  thus,  when 
you  know  that — that  you  consider  me  —  a  thief!  " 
and  the  poor  girl  burst  into  tears  again. 

"  I  do  not !  I  do  not ;  "  cried  Tom,  growing 
really  earnest  at  the  sight  of  her  sorrow.  "  Did  I 
not  begin  this  unhappy  talk  by  begging  your  par- 
don for  ever  having  let  such  a  thought  cross  my 
mind?" 

"  But  you  do  !  you  do  !  you  told  me  as  much  at 
my  own  door ;  and  I  have  seen  it  ever  since,  till  I 
have  almost  gone  mad  under  it !  " 

"  I  will  swear  to  you  by  all  that  is  sacred  that  I 
do  not !  O  Grace,  the  first  moment  I  saw  you  my 
heart  told  me  that  it  was  impossible ;  and  now,  this 
afternoon,  as  I  listened  to  you  with  that  sick  girl, 

I  felt  a  wretch  for  ever  having Grace,  I  tell 

you,  you  made  me  feel,  for  the  moment,  a  better 
man  than  I  ever  felt  in  my  life  before.  A  poor 
return  I  have  made  for  that,  truly !  " 

Grace  looked  up  in  his  face  gasping. 

"  Oh,  say  that !  say  that  again.  O  good  Lord, 
merciful  Lord,  at  last!  Oh,  if  you  knew  what  it 
was  to  have  even  one  weight  lifted  off,  among  all 
my  heavy  burdens,  and  that  weight  the  hardest  to 
bear.  God  forgive  me  that  it  should  have  been 
so !  Oh,  I  can  breathe  freely  now  again,  that  I 
know  I  am  not  suspected  by  you." 

"  By  you? "  Tom  could  not  but  see  what,  after 
all,  no  human  being  can  conceal,  that  Grace  cared 
for  him.  And  the  devil  came  and  tempted  him 
once  more ;  but  this  time  it  was  in  vain.  Tom's 
better  angel  had  returned ;  Grace's  tender  guile- 
lessness,  which  would  with  too  many  men  only 
have  marked  her  out  as  the  easier  prey,  was  to  him 
as  a  sacred  shield  before  her  innocence.  So  noble, 


398  Two  Years  Ago 

so  enthusiastic,  so  pure  !  He  could  not  play  the 
villain  with  that  woman. 

But  there  was  plainly  a  mystery.  What  were 
the  burdens,  heavier  even  than  unjust  suspicion, 
of  which  she  had  spoken  ?  There  was  no  harm  in 
asking. 

"But,  Grace  —  Miss  Harvey — You  will  not  be 
angry  with  me  if  I  ask?  Why  speak  so  often,  as 
if  rinding  this  money  depended  on  you  alone? 
You  wish  me  to  recover  it,  I  know ;  and  if  you 
can  counsel  me,  why  not  do  so  ?  Why  not  tell  me 
whom  you  suspect?" 

Her  old  wild  terror  returned  in  an  instant.  She 
stopped  short: 

"Suspect?  I  suspect?  Oh,  I  have  suspected 
too  many  already  !  Suspected  till  I  began  to  hate 
my  fellow-creatures — hate  life  itself,  when  I  fancied 
that  I  saw  '  thief  written  on  every  forehead.  Oh, 
do  not  ask  me  to  suspect  any  more ! " 

Tom  was  silent. 

"  Oh,"  she  cried,  after  a  moment's  pause.  "  Oh, 
that  we  were  back  in  those  old  times  I  have  read 
of,  when  they  used  to  put  people  to  the  torture  to 
make  them  confess !  " 

"Why,  in  Heaven's  name?" 

"  Because  then  I  should  have  been  tortured,  and 
have  confessed  it,  true  or  false,  in  the  agony,  and 
have  been  hanged.  They  used  to  hang  them  then, 
and  put  them  out  of  their  misery;  and  I  should 
have  been  put  out  of  mine,  and  no  one  have  been 
blamed  but  me  for  evermore." 

"  You  forget,"  said  Tom,  lost  in  wonder,  "  that 
then  I  should  have  blamed  you,  as  well  as  every 
one  else." 

"  True ;  yes,  it  was  a  foolish,  faithless  word.    I 


The  Doctor  at  Bay  399 

did  not  take  it,  and  it  would  have  been  no  good 
to  my  soul  to  say  I  did.  Lies  cannot  prosper, 
cannot  prosper,  Mr.  Thurnall !  "  and  she  stopped 
short  again. 

"What,  my  dear  Grace?"  said  he,  kindly  enough; 
for  he  began  to  fear  that  she  was  losing  her  wits. 

"  I  saved  your  life  !  " 

"  You  did,  Grace." 

"Then,  I  never  thought  to  ask  for  payment; 
but,  oh,  I  must  now.  Will  you  promise  me  one 
thing  in  return?" 

"  What  you  will,  as  I  am  a  man  and  a  gentle- 
man ;  I  can  trust  you  to  ask  nothing  which  is  not 
worthy  of  you." 

Tom  spoke  truth.  He  felt,  —  perhaps  love  made 
him  feel  it  all  the  more  easily,  —  that  whatever 
was  behind,  he  was  safe  in  that  woman's  hands. 

"  Then  promise  me  that  you  will  wait  one  month, 
only  one  month :  ask  no  questions ;  mention  noth- 
ing to  any  living  soul.  And  if,  before  that  time, 
1  do  not  bring  you  that  belt  back,  send  me  to 
Bodmin  jail,  and  let  me  bear  my  punishment." 

"  I  promise,"  said  Tom.  And  the  two  walked 
on  again  in  silence,  till  they  neared  the  head  of 
the  village. 

Then  Grace  went  forward,  like  Nausicaa  when 
she  left  Ulysses,  lest  the  townsfolk  should  talk; 
and  Tom  sat  down  upon  a  bank  and  watched  her 
figure  vanishing  in  the  dusk. 

Much  he  puzzled,  hunting  up  and  down  in  his 
cunning  head  for  an  explanation  of  the  mystery. 
At  last  he  found  one  which  seemed  to  fit  the  facts 
so  well,  that  he  rose  with  a  whistle  of  satisfaction, 
and  walked  homewards. 

Evidently,  her  mother  had  stolen  the  belt;  and 


400  Two  Years  Ago 

Grace  was,  if  not  a  repentant  accomplice  —  for 
that  he  could  not  believe  —  at  least  aware  of  the 
fact. 

"  Well,  it  is  a  hard  knot  for  her  to  untie,  poor 
child;  and  on  the  strength  of  having  saved  my 
life,  she  shall  untie  it  her  own  way.  I  can  wait. 
I  hope  the  money  won't  be  spent  meanwhile, 
though,  and  the  empty  leather  returned  to  me 
when  wanted  no  longer.  However,  that's  done 
already,  if  done  at  all.  I  was  a  fool  for  not  acting 
at  once;  a  double  fool  for  suspecting  her!  Ass 
that  I  was,  to  take  up  with  a  false  scent,  and  throw 
myself  off  the  true  one  !  My  everlasting  unbelief 
in  people  has  punished  itself  this  time.  I  might 
have  got  a  search-warrant  three  months  ago,  and 
had  that  old  witch  safe  in  the  bilboes.  But  no  — 
I  might  not  have  found  it,  after  all,  and  there 
would  have  been  only  an  esclandre;  and  if  I  know 
that  girl's  heart,  she  would  have  been  ten  times 
more  miserable  for  her  mother  than  for  herself,  so 
it 's  as  well  as  it  is.  Besides,  it 's  really  good  fun 
to  watch  how  such  a  pretty  plot  will  work  itself 
out;  as  good  as  a  pack  of  harriers  with  a  cold 
scent  and  a  squatted  hare.  So,  live  and  let  live. 
Only,  Thomas  Thurnall,  if  you  go  for  to  come  for 
to  go  for  to  make  such  an  abominable  ass  of  your- 
self with  that  young  lady  any  more,  like  a  miser- 
able school-boy,  you  will  be  pleased  to  make 
tracks,  and  vanish  out  of  these  parts  for  ever. 
For  my  purse  can't  afford  to  have  you  marrying 
a  schoolmistress  in  your  impoverished  old  age; 
and  my  character,  which  also  is  my  purse,  can't 
afford  worse." 

One  word  of  Grace's  had  fixed  itself  in  Tom's 
memory.  What  did  she  mean  by  "  her  two  "  ? 


The  Doctor  at  Bay  401 

He  contrived  to  ask  Willis  that  very  evening. 

"Oh,  don't  you  know,  sir?  She  had  a  young 
brother  drowned,  a  long  while  ago,  when  she 
was  sixteen  or  so.  He  went  out  fishing  on  the 
Sabbath,  with  another  like  him,  and  both  were 
swamped.  Wild  young  lads,  both,  as  lads  will  be. 
But  she,  sweet  maid,  took  it  so  to  heart,  that  she 
never  held  up  her  head  since;  nor  will,  I  think, 
at  times,  to  her  dying  day." 

"Humph!  Was  she  fond  of  the  other  lad, 
then?" 

"  Sir,"  said  Willis,  "  I  don't  think"  it 's  fair  like  — 
not  decent,  if  you  '11  excuse  an  old  sailor  —  to  talk 
about  young  maids'  affairs,  that  they  would  n't 
talk  of  themselves,  perhaps  not  even  to  themselves. 
So  I  never  asked  any  questions  myself." 

"  And  think  it  rude  in  me  to  ask  any.  Well,  I 
believe  you  're  right,  good  old  gentleman  that  you 
are.  What  a  nobleman  you  'd  have  made,  if  you 
had  had  the  luck  to  have  been  born  in  that  station 
of  life!" 

"  I  have  found  too  much  trouble,  in  doing  my 
duty  in  my  humble  place,  to  wish  to  be  in  any 
higher  one." 

"  So !  "  thought  Tom  to  himself,  "  a  girl's  fancy: 
but  it  explains  so  much  in  the  character,  espe- 
cially when  the  temperament  is  melancholic. 
However,  to  quote  Solomon  once  more,  '  A 
live  dog  is  better  than  a  dead  lion ; '  and  I 
have  not  much  to  fear  from  a  rival  who  has 
been  washed  out  of  this  world  ten  years  since. 
Heyday!  Rival!  quotha?  Tom  Thurnall,  you 
are  going  to  make  a  fool  of  yourself.  You 
must  go,  sir!  I  warn  you;  you  must  flee,  till 
you  have  recovered  your  senses," 


402  Two  Years  Ago 

There  appeared  next  morning  in  Tom's  shop 
a  new  phenomenon.  A  smart  youth,  dressed  in 
what  he  considered  to  be  the  newest  London 
fashion;  but  which  was  really  that  translation  of 
last  year's  fashion  which  happened  to  be  current 
in  the  windows  of  the  Bodmin  tailors.  Tom  knew 
him  by  sight  and  name — one  Mr.  Creed,  a  squireen 
like  Trebooze,  and  an  especial  friend  of  Trebooze's, 
under  whose  tutelage  he  had  learned  to  smoke  cav- 
endish assiduously  from  the  age  of  fifteen,  thereby 
improving  neither  his  stature  nor  his  digestion,  his 
nerves,  nor  the  intelligence  of  his  countenance. 

He  entered  with  a  lofty  air,  and  paused  awhile  as 
he  spoke. 

"  Is  it  possible,"  said  Tom  to  himself,  "  that 
Trebooze  has  sent  me  a  challenge?  It  would  be 
too  good  fun.  I  '11  wait  and  see."  So  he  went  on 
rolling  pills, 

"I  say,  sir,"  quoth  the  youth,  who  had  deter- 
mined, as  an  owner  of  land,  to  treat  the  doctor 
duly  de  haul  en  bas,  and  had  a  vague  notion  that 
a  liberal  use  of  the  word  "sir"  would  both  help 
thereto,  and  be  consonant  with  professional  style 
of  duel  diplomacy,  whereof  he  had  read  in  novels. 

Tom  turned  slowly,  and  then  took  a  long  look  at 
him  over  the  counter  through  half-shut  eyelids, 
with  chin  upraised,  as  if  he  had  been  suddenly 
afflicted  with  short  sight;  and  worked  on  mean- 
while steadily  at  his  pills. 

"  That  is,  I  wish  —  to  speak  to  you,  sir  — 
ahem !  "  —  went  on  Mr.  Creed ;  being  gradually 
but  surely  discomfited  by  Tom's  steady  gaze, 

"  Don't  trouble  yourself,  sir :  I  see  your  case  in 
your  face.  A  slight  nervous  affection  —  will  pass 
as  the  digestion  improves.  I  will  make  you  up 


The  Doctor  at  Bay  403 

a  set  of  pills  for  the  night;  but  I  should  advise 
a  little  ammonia  and  valerian  at  once.  May  I 
mix  it?" 

"  Sir !  you  mistake  me,  sir !  " 

"Not  in  the  least;  you  have  brought  me  a 
challenge  from  Mr.  Trebooze." 

"  I  have,  sir !  "  said  the  youth,  with  a  grand  air, 
at  once  relieved  by  having  the  awful  words  said 
for  him,  and  exalted  by  the  dignity  of  his  first,  and 
perhaps  last,  employment  in  that  line. 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  Tom,  deliberately,  "  Mr.  Tre- 
booze does  me  a  kindness  for  which  I  cannot  suf- 
ficiently thank  him,  and  you  also,  as  his  second. 
It  is  full  six  months  since  I  fought,  and  I  was 
getting  hardly  to  know  myself  again." 

"  You  will  have  to  fight  now,  sir ! "  sa!d  the 
youth,  trying  to  brazen  off  by  his  discourtesy  in- 
creasing suspicion  that  he  had  "  caught  a  Tartar." 

"  Of  course,  of  course.  And  of  course,  too,  I 
fight  you  afterwards." 

"I  —  I,  sir?  I  am  Mr.  Trebooze's  friend,  his 
second,  sir.  You  do  not  seem  to  understand, 
sir!" 

"  Pardon  me,  young  gentleman,"  said  Tom,  in  a 
very  quiet,  determined  voice :  "  it  is  I  who  have 
a  right  to  tell  you  that  you  do  not  understand  in 
such  matters  as  these.  I  had  fought  my  man,  and 
more  than  one  of  them,  while  you  were  eating 
blackberries  in  a  short  jacket." 

"What  do  you  mean,  sir?"  quoth  the  youth,  in 
fury;  and  began  swearing  a  little. 

"  Simple  fact  Are  you  not  about  twenty-three 
years  old  ?  " 

"  What  is  that  to  you,  sir?  " 

*  No  business  of  mine,  of  course.  You  may  be 
Vol.  10— B 


404  Two  Years  Ago 

growing  Into  your  second  childhood  for  aught  I 
care :  but  if,  as  I  guess,  you  are  about  twenty- 
three,  I,  as  I  know,  am  thirty-six :  then  I  fought 
my  first  duel  when  you  were  five  years  old,  and 
my  tenth,  I  should  say,  when  you  were  fifteen; 
at  which  time,  I  suppose,  you  were  not  ashamed 
either  of  the  jacket  or  the  blackberries." 

"You  will  find  me  a  man  now,  sir,  at  all  events," 
said  Creed,  justly  wroth  at  what  was,  after  all,  a 
sophism ;  for  if  a  man  is  not  a  man  at  twenty,  he 
never  will  be  one. 

"Tant  mieux.  You  know,  I  suppose,  that  as  the 
challenged,  I  have  the  choice  of  weapons?" 

"Of  course,  sir,"  said  Creed,  in  an  off-hand 
generous  tone,  because  he  did  not  very  clearly 
know. 

"Then,  sir,  I  always  fight  across  a  handkerchief. 
You  will  tell  Mr.  Trebooze  so;  he  is,  I  really  be- 
lieve, a  brave  man,  and  will  accept  the  terms. 
You  will  tell  yourself  the  same,  whether  you  be 
a  brave  man  or  not." 

The  youth  lost  the  last  words  in  those  which 
went  before  them.  He  was  no  coward:  would 
have  stood  up  to  be  shot  at,  at  fifteen  paces,  like 
any  one  else ;  but  the  deliberate  butchery  of  fight- 
ing across  a  handkerchief ! 

"Do  I  understand  you,  sir?" 

"That  depends  on  whether  you  are  clever 
enough,  or  not,  to  comprehend  your  native 
tongue.  Across  a  handkerchief,  I  say,  do  you 
hear  that?"  And  Tom  rolled  on  at  his  pills. 

"I  do." 

"And  when  I  Have  fought  him,  I  fight  you!" 
And  the  pills  rolled  steadily  at  the  same  pace. 

"But— sir?    Why— sir?" 


The  Doctor  at  Bay  405 

"Because,"  said  Tom,  looking  him  full  in  the 
'face,  "because  you,  calling  yourself  a  gentleman, 
and  being,  more  shame  for  you,  one  by  birth, 
dare  to  come  here,  for  a  foolish  vulgar  supersti- 
tion called  honor,  to  ask  me,  a  quiet  medical 
man,  to  go  and  be  shot  at  by  a  man  whom  you 
know  to  be  a  drunken,  profligate  blackguard; 
simply  because,  as  you  know  as  well  as  I,  I  in- 
terfered to  prevent  his  insulting  a  poor  helpless 
girl ;  and  in  so  doing,  was  forced  to  give  him  what 
you,  if  you  are  (as  I  believe)  a  gentleman,  would 
have  given  him  also,  in  my  place." 

"I  don't  understand  you,  sirl"  said  the  lad, 
blushing  all  the  while,  as  one  honestly  conscience- 
stricken  ;  for  Tom  had  spoken  the  exact  truth,  and 
he  knew  it 

"Don't  lie,  sir,  and  tell  me  that  you  don't  under- 
stand; you  understand  every  word  which  I  have 
spoken,  and  you  know  that  it  is  true," 

"Lie?" 

"Yes,  lie.  Look  you,  sir,  I  have  no  wish  to 
fight—" 

"You  will  fight,  though,  whether  you  wish  it  or 
not,"  said  the  youth,  with  a  hysterical  laugh, 
meant  to  be  defiant. 

"But — I  can  snuff  a  candle ;  I  can  split  a  bullet 
on  a  penknife  at  fifteen  paces." 

"Do  you  mean  to  frighten  us  by  boasting?  We 
shall  see  what  you  can  do  when  you  come  on  the 
ground." 

"Across  a  handkerchief;  but  on  no  other  con- 
'dition ;  and,  unless  you  will  accept  that  condition, 
I  will  assuredly,  the  next  time  I  see  you,  be  we 
where  we  may,  treat  you  as  I  treated  your  friend 
Mr.  Trebooze.  I'll  do  it  now!  Get  out  of  my; 


406  Two  Years  Ago 

shop,  sir!  What  do  you  want  here,  interfering 
with  my  honest  business?" 

And,  to  the  astonishment  of  Mr.  Trebooze's 
second,  Tom  vaulted  clean  over  the  counter,  and 
rushed  at  him  open-mouthed. 

Sacred  be  the  honor  of  the  gallant  West  country; 
but,  "  both  being  friends,"  as  Aristotle  has  it,  "  it  is 
a  sacred  duty  to  speak  the  truth."  Mr.  Creed 
vanished  through  the  open  door. 

"  I  rid  myself  of  the  fellow  jollily,"  said  Tom  to 
Frank  that  day,  after  telling  him  the  whole  story. 
"  And  no  credit  to  me.  I  saw  from  the  minute  he 
came  in  there  was  no  fight  in  him." 

"  But  suppose  he  had  accepted  —  or  suppose 
Trebooze  accepts  still  ?  " 

"  There  was  my  game  —  to  frighten  him.  He  '11 
take  care  Trebooze  sha'n't  fight,  for  he  knows  that 
he  must  fight  next.  He  '11  go  home  and  patch  the 
matter  up,  trust  him.  Meanwhile,  the  oaf  had  not 
even  savoir  faire  enough  to  ask  for  my  second. 
Lucky  for  me ;  for  I  don't  know  where  to  have  found 
one,  save  the  lieutenant ;  and  though  he  would  have 
gone  out  safe  enough,  it  would  have  been  a  bore 
for  the  good  old  fellow." 

"And,"  said  Frank,  utterly  taken  aback  by  Tom's 
business-like  levity, "  you  would  actually  have  stood 
to  shoot,  and  be  shot  at,  across  a  handkerchief?  " 

Tom  stuck  out  his  great  chin,  and  looked  at  him 
with  one  of  his  quaint  sidelong  moues. 

"  You  are  my  very  good  friend,  sir ;  but  not  my 
father-confessor." 

"  I  know  that ;  but  really  —  as  a  mere  question 
of  human  curiosity " 

"  Oh,  if  you  ask  me  on  the  human  ground,  and 
not  on  the  sacerdotal,  I  '11  tell  you.  I  've  tried  it 


The  Doctor  at  Bay  407 

twice,  and  I  should  be  sorry  to  try  it  again ;  though 
it's  a  very  easy  dodge.  Keep  your  right  elbow 
up  —  up  to  your  ear  —  and  the  moment  you  hear 
the  word,  fire.  A  high  elbow  and  a  cool  heart  — 
that 's  all ;  and  that  wins." 

"Wins?  Good  heavens!  As  you  are  here 
alive,  you  must  have  killed  your  man?" 

"No.  I  only  shot  my  men  each  through  the 
body ;  and  each  of  them  deserved  it ;  but  it  is  an 
ugly  chance ;  I  should  have  been  sorry  to  try  it  on 
that  yokel.  The  boy  may  make  a  man  yet.  And 
what's  more,"  said  Tom,  bursting  into  a  great 
laugh,  "  he  will  make  a  man,  and  go  down  to  his 
fathers  in  peace,  quant  d  mot ;  and  so  will  that 
wretched  Trebooze.  For  I  '11  bet  you  my  head  to 
a  China  orange,  I  hear  no  more  of  this  matter ;  and 
don't  even  lose  Trebooze's  custom." 

"Upon  my  word,  I  envy  your  sanguine  tem- 
perament ! " 

"  Mr.  Headley,  I  shall  quietly  make  my  call  at 
Trebooze  to-morrow,  as  if  nothing  had  happened. 
What  will  you  bet  me  that  I  am  not  received  as 
usual?" 

"  I  never  bet,"  said  Frank. 

"  Then  you  do  well.  It  is  a  foolish  and  a  dirty 
trick;  playing  with  edge  tools,  and  cutting  one's 
own  fingers.  Nevertheless,  I  speak  truth,  as  you 
will  see." 

"  You  are  a  most  extraordinary  man.  All  this 
is  so  contrary  to  your  usual  caution." 

"When  you  are  driven  against  the  ropes,  'hit 
out '  is  the  old  rule  of  fistiana  and  common  sense. 
It  is  an  extreme  bore;  all  the  more  reason  for 
showing  such  an  ugly  front  as  to  give  people  no 
chance  of  its  happening  again.  Nothing  so  danger- 


408  Two  Years  Ago 

ous  as  half-measures,  Headley.  '  Resist  the  devil 
and  he  will  flee  from  you,'  your  creed  says.  Mine 
only  translates  it  into  practice." 

"  I  have  no  liking  for  half-measures  myself." 

"  Did  you  ever,"  said  Tom,  "  hear  the  story  of 
the  two  Sandhurst  broomsquires?  " 

"  Broomsquires?  " 

"  So  we  call,  in  Berkshire,  squatters  on  the  moor 
who  live  by  tying  heath  into  brooms.  Two  of 
them  met  in  Reading  market  once,  and  fell  out: 

" '  How  ever  do  you  manage  to  sell  your  brooms 
for  three-halfpence?  I  steals  the  heth,  and  I  steals 
the  binds,  and  I  steals  the  handles,  and  yet  I  can't 
afoord  to  sell  them  under  twopence.' 

" '  Ah,  but  you  see,'  says  the  other,  '  I  steals 
mine  ready  made.' 

"  Moral  —  If  you  're  going  to  do  a  thing,  do  it 
outright." 

That  very  evening,  Tom  came  in  again. 

"  Well ;  I  Ve  been  to  Trebooze." 

"And  fared  how?" 

"  Just  as  I  warned  you.  Inquired  into  his  symp- 
toms ;  prescribed  for  his  digestion  —  if  he  goes  on 
as  he  is  doing,  he  will  soon  have  none  left  to  pre- 
scribe for;  and  finally,  plastered,  with  a  sublime 
generosity,  the  nose  which  my  own  knuckles  had 
contused." 

"  Impossible !  you  are  the  most  miraculously 
impudent  of  men !  " 

"  Pish !    simple   common    sense.     I   knew  that 
Mrs.  Trebooze  would  suspect  that  the  world  had 
heard  of  his  mishap,  and  took  care  to  let  her  know 
that  I  knew,  by  coming  up  to  inquire  for  him." 
,  "Cuibono?" 

"  Power.      To  have  them,  or  any  one,  a  little 


The  Doctor  at  Bay  409 

more  in  my  power.  Next,  I  knew  that  he  dared 
not  fly  out  at  me,  for  fear  I  should  tell  Mrs.  Tre- 
booze  what  he  had  been  after  —  you  see  ?  Ah, 
it  was  delicious  to  have  the  great  oaf  sitting  sulk- 
ing under  my  fingers,  longing  to  knock  my  head 
off,  and  I  plastering  away,  with  words  of  deepest 
astonishment  and  condolence.  I  verily  believe 
that,  before  we  parted,  I  had  persuaded  him  that 
his  black  eye  proceeded  entirely  from  his  having 
run  up  against  a  tree  in  the  dark." 

"  Well,"  said  Frank,  half  sadly,  though  enjoying 
the  joke  in  spite  of  himself,  "  I  cannot  help  think- 
ing it  would  have  been  a  fit  moment  for  giving  the 
poor  wretch  a  more  solemn  lesson." 

"My  dear  sir  —  a  good  licking — and  he  had 
one,  and  something  over  —  is  the  best  lesson  for 
that  manner  of  biped.  That 's  the  way  to  school 
him ;  but  as  we  are  on  lessons,  I  '11  give  you  a 
hint." 

"  Go  on,  model  of  self-sufficiency !  "  said  Frank. 

"  Scoff  at  me  if  you  will,  I  am  proof.  But 
hearken — you  mustn't  turn  out  that  schoolmis- 
tress. She 's  an  angel,  and  I  know  it ;  and  if  I 
say  so  of  any  human  being,  you  may  be  sure  I 
have  pretty  good  reasons." 

"  I  am  beginning  to  be  of  your  mind  myself," 
said  Frank. 


END  OF  VOL.  ONE. 


